


Sleeping Beauty Syndrome

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demonic Possession, Depression, M/M, Muteness, Past Relationship(s), Religious Guilt, Size Kink, Somnophilia, Stillbirth, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: In which Josh sleepwalks, Tyler has a big dick, and someone gets a bullet through the head.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "a car, a torch, a death" by twenty one pilots
> 
> translation into русский available: [Sleeping Beauty Syndrome](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5096680) by [Блэкаут](https://ficbook.net/authors/820429)

He isn't wearing pants. Two dark sticks for legs poke from his sweater, the hem reaching about the middle of his thighs. It's threadbare, ruined with hands wringing the soft, gray material over and over. He's doing it now, but it isn't like he's tugging down the sweater to be modest. No, the action is more of a tease. Along with pants, he isn't wearing anything else below the waist. Josh's eyes are trained on his hands, his fingers, and then Josh is unable to pull away from the cock between his legs. Flaccid, the head pink and poking from the sweater's hem, Josh swears it might be the prettiest thing he's seen recently. Josh drove through a city with falling leaves just this morning; he doesn't even remember what they looked like. They can't compare to the cockhead Josh is currently ogling.

"Move along," he says.

Josh snaps out of it. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

"You shouldn't be dressed like that." Josh's backpack is heavy on his shoulder. His posture is off, slouched. The duffel bag in his fist feels like a rock. "I mean, it's _cold_. Not like… like, you're _asking for it_."

"Maybe I am asking for it." The man wiggles his eyebrows and leans his weight on the doorjamb. It creaks. Josh looks away, glances out the corner of his eye. Arms over his chest, the man's cock is still out, still there for Josh's fodder. Without the tantalizing, the tip and an inch of skin hangs free. Josh drools, and the man begins to laugh, as if he can read Josh's mind. "Go back to the front desk," he says, "and tell the receptionist you ran into your friend in room one eleven and that you'll be spending the night with him."

"Are you my friend in room one eleven?" Josh's room key burns a hole in his back pocket. He narrows his eyes. "Surely I must know my friend's name."

"Tyler," Tyler says, and he smiles with crooked teeth and a tilt of his head. It's endearing, too cute for his own good. "Surely _I_ must know _my_ friend's name."

"I'm Josh."

"Josh," Tyler says, and he's still smiling. "Go to the front desk and return your key."

Josh's pocket burns and burns, and Tyler smiles and smiles, but Josh shakes his head, turns his head, and shakes his head some more. "I'm just down the hall. Maybe we'll see each other later tonight. Might get hungry."

Tyler swipes his tongue over his lips. "Oh, I'm sure you will."

Painful to do so, Josh continues his walk down the hallway, his shoelace untied and dragging along the carpet behind him. He can feel Tyler's eyes on him, watching, calculating like some sort of animal. Josh knows he should shrink in size, should appear smaller under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator, but he's tall, stepping with one foot in front of the other. Josh is normally not confident, but he is at this moment. He's putting on an act for Tyler, trying to show that a guy in a worn-out sweater with his dick out doesn't intimidate. Tyler is a fool. And within the hour of Josh settling into his motel room, Tyler is knocking on his door.

"Not hungry," Josh says as a greeting, head tilting and smiling, like Tyler before him. "Maybe later."

Tyler is looking much the same as he did an hour ago. No pants, arms hanging loosely by his sides, he stares at Josh, and Josh can't help but to stare at him in return. Not at his dick this time; Tyler's eyes are the color of burnt wood. Though, that might be the lighting. The hallway is a flickering mess. This place is cheap. Josh paid for the room in cash he withdrew from an ATM just last night. He needed a bed tonight, and it seems he might not need to be in that bed alone tonight, either.

"Put some pants on." Josh wears flannel pajama bottoms, a hoodie, and some socks with padded soles. He thinks they were his mom's.

"I'm asking for it," Tyler says. "Come to my room. Maybe the walk will work up an appetite."

Josh doesn't know why he agrees to it, but he's grabbing his phone and room key and following Tyler down that hallway, socked feet against the carpet. Tyler is bare feet, the backs of his thighs hairy, his ass hidden behind his sweater. Tyler is hunched, almost like he's doing the walk of shame, but he couldn't be happier to close the door behind Josh, to watch Josh stand in the middle of the room. "So…" Tyler presses his hands together.

His room is disorganized, but it's a neat disorganization. He knows where everything is and where to find it. The bed's unmade, the pillows slept on and punched into more comfortable positions. A home for more than a night, Tyler has toiletries and other personal items spread throughout the room—a bottle of lube on the nightstand, a strip of condoms on the floor by the foot of the bed, and an opened box of—

"Oh, hell no."

"Pardon?"

Josh pushes past Tyler, making a break for the door. Tyler beats him to it and slams into the wood. It shakes, and Josh rolls his eyes. "Let me out."

Tyler draws out the question—" _Why?_ "

"Tyler, get out of the way. I'm not gonna sleep with you."

"Why not?"

"If you think I'm blind—" Josh puffs out his cheeks and sighs. Tyler is batting his eyelashes. "That's fucking"—Josh points at the box resting on the top of the TV, ready to grab on the way to the bathroom—"A-200."

Tyler blinks, slow. "And?"

"I'm not gonna sleep with you!"

"They're gone! I just kept the box!"

"Bullshit!"

"Okay, you're right. _Whatever_. They're gone!" Then, in a quieter voice, "Mostly."

"Yeah, I'm not sleeping with you."

"Kiss me," Tyler says, eyes lighting up as if he got a bright idea. "You can kiss me. They're not in my eyelashes and eyebrows anymore."

Josh gags. "What the _fuck_ did you get into, man? I'm outta here."

Tyler lets Josh push him from the door. "So, maybe later?"

"Get an all-clear from your doctor, and then I'll consider it."

Tyler is watching Josh again. Josh doesn't have to fake his confidence now. His whole body is humming, full with adrenaline. Tyler is a fool. And Tyler is shutting his door, turning the lock, and in his own room, Josh does the same. It's not even midnight yet, but he pulls down the bed covers and lies beneath the blankets he hopes were washed in the past week. He finds the TV remote on the nightstand, uses it to flip on the small thing.

There's a knock on his door. Tyler says, "I can suck your dick. You don't have to touch me."

"Dude, _go away_. I said no."

Josh thinks he hears whining, but it passes quickly. Tyler is gone.

And yet, Tyler is here, in Josh's room, when Josh opens his eyes. The clock on the wall says it's three minutes past one and definitely not the time for a late-night visitor in the form of a man in a gray sweater and with eyes heavy-lidded.

" _Dude_ ," Josh says, and rolls his shoulders, "I really hope you're wearing pants," because the pressure on his chest is due to Tyler perching. Josh raises his hands, and he touches Tyler's thighs—bare—and higher, hips—clothed. Tyler isn't wearing pants, just a loose pair of boxers. That's okay, Josh supposes.

"Wait," Tyler says, tone scathing, as if he's the one who should be rightfully upset in this situation. "You can move."

"Of course I can _fucking move_. It's my body." Josh rolls his eyes and pushes himself up, sitting. Tyler slides to Josh's lap. He doesn't look happy. "How'd you get in here?" Josh is leaned back, palms supporting his weight. The mattress molds easily. "I locked the door. The windows don't open."

"Asked the room service while they were going down the hall. Told them I locked myself out from my boyfriend's room. Left my phone in there, too."

"And they let you in? Just like that?"

"Had to… do a few things." Tyler's boxers are tented obscenely so, the front damp and dark. Josh stares, and Tyler stares at Josh. "You know how things go."

"Whatever." Josh's head swims with unpleasant thoughts. He's pissed. "Look, I get it. _I'm hot_. But I said no."

"Okay." Tyler sits there. He doesn't move.

"You're hot, too." Josh feels like he ruined this guy's self-esteem. How long was he trying to get laid tonight? Standing in the doorway of his room, waiting for someone to walk by and see him and his dick, Josh couldn't have been the first person. If there were others, did they know what the medication on the TV meant, or were they ignorant and let Tyler take them to bed? Tyler's eyes are heavy again, and Josh swears Tyler's cock gives a small twitch.

Tyler squirms, then, a gentle rock from side to side to adjust himself. Instead of tucking it into his waistband, he moves his cock to his thigh and pulls the leg of his boxers to the junction of thigh and groin. Tyler's leaking, getting caught in the dark hair. "Like this," he says. "This is okay."

"Is it?" Josh still sets his hand on Tyler's thigh, the pad of his thumb petting the tip, underneath to the glans, and up to the slit. Tyler's lips part. Josh chews on the inside of his cheek, thumb going in circles. "Why's your dick a little cold?"

Tyler kisses Josh, forceful, hands to Josh's chest, pushing until Josh is flat on his back. Tyler tips along with him, lips connecting at a different angle. Teeth and tongue, Josh regains control by tangling his fingers into Tyler's hair and _pulling_.

"Hey," Tyler squeaks, head tilted toward the ceiling, the slope of his nose perfectly aligned with a crack in it. "H-hey now." He looks down, tries to, and Josh lets him, his grip easing up only a bit. Tyler swallows. Josh smiles at that. "Not that hard."

Josh lets go.

Tyler sighs, and they're kissing.

It's lazy, mostly due to Josh's sheer disbelief. In the corner of the room, the TV hums a show about a floating box of fries, a shake, and a meatball. Josh doesn't remember what was playing when he fell asleep, or even when he fell asleep. He woke to Tyler on his chest, and now they're kissing. Josh considers this okay. He wraps his arm around Tyler's waist and sticks his hand up Tyler's sweater. Yes, Josh considers this okay, as long as Tyler's boxers stay on his body.

Grabby hands, Tyler tips them onto their sides and hoists Josh's leg onto his hip. The initial move stuns Josh, and Tyler's hand groping his ass makes him freeze altogether.

"No," he says.

"Don't want Daddy touching you there?"

Josh smacks Tyler's hand, a sharp sting to the back of it. "You're not my fucking _daddy_."

Tyler shrinks, eyes wide. He shivers, and right where his cock is, pressed into Josh's hip, gets wet, a few drops of pre-come escaping. Josh doesn't break. Unwavering, he looks at Tyler and says, "I like being touched there. Just not by people like you."

"People like me?" Tyler takes a string from Josh's hoodie. He holds onto it, nothing more.

"Strangers," Josh clarifies.

Tyler deflates. "Oh."

It's quiet. The credits roll on the cartoon. Josh props himself onto an elbow, Tyler flopping backward to lay on a shoulder, the other facing the ceiling and the crack now parallel to the narrow space between them. Tyler clutches the string on Josh's hoodie. "Look," Josh says, the second time tonight. "I wanna sleep with you—I really do. You've got—"

"Yeah." Tyler shrugs a shoulder. "I understand." He quirks an eyebrow. "Kiss me again?"

Josh does.

Tyler is soft. Josh cups the back of his neck, allowing each of them to get comfortable as they lie on their sides. Josh's leg is still on Tyler's hip, but the position transfers. Tyler breaks the kiss for a second, ducking his hand down to roll the leg of his boxers up even more, just enough to let his dick free, to reveal a good portion of his ass—which Josh immediately holds. "You wanna come?" Josh teases, forehead to Tyler's forehead. He squeezes, and then slaps. It's loud in the delicate quiet of the room. Tyler hisses, nods, eyes shut. Josh brings his hand back down and watches Tyler shift his hips forward, dragging his cock against Josh's groin.

"Yeah." Josh smiles. "Hump against me." He presses his hand to the small of Tyler's back. "I'll be your pillow tonight."

"Shut up." Tyler's hips roll. "I don't hump pillows."

"Whatever." Josh matches their lips.

There's another cartoon playing. Josh listens to Tyler and only Tyler. Tiny whimpers, the slow drag of bare skin along fabric, Tyler manages to keep his rhythm while maintaining a steady balance of kissing. It's as if Tyler can go on for several minutes without the need to inhale or move his head. If anyone is tilting their head from side to side to taste a different angle, it's Josh. Tyler is a leader and a follower. He is strong and weak. Tyler tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Josh's neck to hold him near and dear. This time, when they kiss, Tyler's lips don't part; it's a press of closed lips to closed lips, and he breathes in sharply through his nose and keeps his hands and head still. His hips pump, his exhales are ragged.

Josh opens his eyes to stare at Tyler, and he notes the way Tyler's eyebrows come together and crease at the middle, how his eyes crinkle at the sides from how tight he's keeping them shut, and how smooth and _perfect_ Tyler's skin is, no matter if Tyler is, most likely, in his early twenties and very much prone to acne. Josh has some blemishes of his own on his chin and temples, a few sore bumps on his shoulders and back, a couple on his chest, but Tyler is flawless next to him. He doesn't even appear to be sweating.

Tyler shudders violently once he comes. Josh grabs his ass and tries to force him to stop shaking, convulsing, _fuck_ , to stop moving overall. Tyler's semen landed on the crotch of Josh's pajama bottoms as Tyler tossed his head back and yowled. It sounded painful. It _sounds_ painful. Tyler is now whining, akin to how he sounded when he showed up at Josh's door and wanted to suck Josh's dick. It's long, low, and paired with his hip twitches, almost animalistic.

"Dude," Josh says, and he lightly smacks Tyler's ass to break him out of it. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh." Drool lines Tyler's lips, which he wipes away with a flick of his wrist.

"I like it loud, but…" Josh doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

Tyler turns to lie on his back, tucking his cock into his boxers. Despite how soft he is, there's a prominent lump, and Josh is the one who has to wipe drool from his lips. "I like it loud, too," Tyler says, scratching his nails into his scalp. "Your turn?"

"No, I'm good."

"You're no fun."

Josh shoves his pants from his legs and kicks them to the floor. Tyler's eyes drop to Josh's legs, Josh's thighs, and Josh's dick. "You gonna take those off now?"

"No."

"Lemme see your dick." Tyler pushes himself into sitting. "I won't touch. Promise." And Tyler stares at Josh, and there's something in his eyes, but Josh shakes his head and flips the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Tyler sighs. "You're being difficult," he mumbles, "and I don't know why."

It's done in such a quiet tone, Josh is sure Tyler is talking to himself. Josh answers, though. "Maybe it's because I'm my own person, and I don't have to do everything you tell me."

Tyler is looking at him again. Fire in his eyes, setting flame to the already burnt wood inside those irises, Tyler slides his foot across the mattress and uses his knee as a headrest. "You're very strange, Josh."

"Okay, but I'm still not showing you my dick."

Tyler blinks. "I'm okay with that."

"Are you?"

Tyler nods, and he means it. He jokes, "Probably insecure about your size anyway," and earns a laugh from Josh.

"My size is fine. Average. It gets the job done. Yours? I'd be insecure about that." Josh raises an eyebrow.

Tyler raises an eyebrow right back. "It gets the job done."

Josh slumps against the headboard. "Whatever. It's pretty big."

"You love it."

Josh pulls on the strings of his hoodie, hiding his face. " _Whatever_."

A cackle actually leaves Tyler's throat. Josh shakes his head again, and Tyler continues to laugh. Josh hears a thump, like Tyler clapped his hand on his chest when he laughed. Josh peeks out from the small gap in his hood, and he sees Tyler bent at the waist, his chest nearly touching the bed sheets, while laugh after laugh tumbles from him. Josh doesn't think this guy could possibly get more endearing.

He stretches out his hood and pushes it from his head. Tyler is smiling, all crooked teeth, the only thing flawed about him that Josh can see. Tyler even has a fucking dimple in his cheek. "So, can I spend the night with you?"

"What—why?"

Tyler sticks out his bottom lip. "It's just _such_ a long walk back to my room."

It might be the fucking dimple, or it might be the way his eyelashes fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. Or it just might be because Josh doesn't want to be alone tonight. Josh has been alone ever since he climbed into his car with minimal luggage and a chill in his bones, parking on the sides of roads and under streetlamps and cowering underneath old blankets and stained pillows. "Please," he remembers whispering to the roof of his car, to the stars outside, to the blood emerging from the superficial lacerations to his cuticles. He remembers pleading, but he doesn't remember who he was pleading to and what he was pleading for late that night. The very next day, he checked into a motel and spotted a guy in a gray sweater with no pants in the hallway, checking him out, not checking him out, teasing, asking for it.

"Sure," Josh says. "You can stay here tonight."

Tyler is happy, that much is obvious—and he's also in disbelief. He's smiling, though, and Josh finds himself smiling, too. "Cool," Tyler says, and nods his head. "That's _cool_."

Josh looks for the remote to the sounds of Tyler getting the bed better suited to his needs. Like his room just down the hall, Tyler abuses his pillow until it's perfectly molded to his form. He curls in on it, legs and arms both, and for a second, Josh sits there and stares at Tyler and forgets he has A-200 in his room and a thick cock in his boxers. For a second, with his cheek pressed to the pillow and his eyes fluttering closed, Tyler looks like a child. It's almost heavenly, cherubic in nature. Josh wants to believe it's because Tyler is falling asleep, and the act of sleeping is angelic in itself, but that can't be it. It doesn't feel right in Josh's head. Josh doesn't doubt that Tyler appears to be from another world; however, that's an exaggeration. That's all it is. When Josh looks at Tyler, his chest tightens, and he blames it on the fucking dimple in Tyler's cheek. Tyler is like any other person. He just so happens to look extra cute when he sleeps.

After he finds the remote, Josh plugs in a timer and tosses the device on the nightstand. The room is back to being cold, no matter if Tyler had just gotten off moments prior. Josh almost regrets chucking his flannel bottoms to the floor. Spunk stain or not, Josh craves the warmth. He's under the covers, though, and he knows he'll be warm in a matter of minutes, so Josh pulls on the sleeves of his hoodie, sweater paws, and tugs the hood over his head once more. The strings remain their ideal length.

Next to him, Tyler is snoring. Josh turns onto his stomach and soon, he's snoring, as well.

His solace lasts for about an hour, or so Josh guesses. It's fuzzy as to what time he fell asleep, but it's three in the morning, and Tyler is sitting on his chest _again_.

" _Dude_ ," Josh grunts, and this time, he flails his arms and punches Tyler in the jaw. "Stop doing that."

" _You can move_."

"Of course I can _fucking move_. Get the hell off me." Josh swings his fist, but Tyler catches it with his right hand while his left rubs his jaw, directly on the spot Josh's knuckles collided with bone. Déjà vu, Josh tries to throw his left hand into Tyler's cheek, but Tyler anticipates this move, and he's abandoning his jaw to grab Josh's wrist. Their arms are crossed, tangled. Josh huffs. "Get _off_ me."

"How can you move? You shouldn't be able to move."

"You're sitting on me! Jesus _Christ_ , what's your deal? Want round two? I fucking told you I wasn't gonna sleep with you."

Tyler's grip is tight. Josh thinks he could break bone. They connect eyes, and there's that fire, burning the wood in his irises. Josh realizes that's supposed to do something to him, but it only makes him laugh. That, and because it's late, and Josh knows he hasn't had enough sleep.

"Please," he says, and there's that plead of the night. "Let me sleep. I want to sleep. This is the first night in a long time I've had a bed, and I want to sleep."

"Please," Josh says.

"Please," Josh says, "oh, please, let me sleep."

Tyler seems to give this some thought. He purses his lips, pink even in this dim light. A moment passes, and then another follows. The television in the corner turns off by itself. Tyler lets go of Josh's arms. "You're running from something," Tyler observes, with a slow tilt of his head.

"You're a genius. Now, _get off me_."

Tyler does. He settles on his claimed side of the bed, returning his limbs to the pillow. It's remarkable how he's back to snoring in no time at all. Josh is forced to gather his breath, to gaze at the ceiling and the crack splitting Tyler and him down the middle.

Josh is cold. He takes most of the blanket, Tyler snoring his retort, and shuts his eyes.

He opens them at four in the morning now, and Tyler is _sitting on his chest_.

"Fuck _off_!" Josh shouts, and he slaps Tyler, open palm, on his ear, and Josh curls his fingers into the hair on the side of Tyler's head and pulls with all his might.

" _Shit_ ," Tyler cries out, and he's whipping his head back and forth, trying to get Josh's fingers from his scalp. "Stop, stop, stop," he's saying, but Josh only pulls harder and shifts his weight to the left, tossing Tyler off him and using this brief lapse to get on top of Tyler, right on his chest, a taste of his own medicine. Josh doesn't ease up on Tyler's hair. He yanks, lifting Tyler's head and shaking it for him. "Stop," Tyler sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks. "It hurts. Please, stop, it hurts so bad."

"Let—me—sleep." Josh pronounces each word with a forceful push and pull of Tyler's head. He rattles it from side to side, not even giving Tyler a moment of rest. His head is off the bed, his shoulders, too, and Josh uses all of his upper body strength to shake Tyler, sure to cause massive head trauma if Tyler were an infant.

"Okay, okay," Tyler pants, but Josh pulls even harder and smashes Tyler's head into the mattress, over and over. Comical almost, to see Tyler's head rebound against the bed, but neither of them laughs. Tyler cries, and Josh begins to cry, too.

Josh stops once Tyler ceases all noise. For a second, Josh thinks he might have caused serious injury. He sits on Tyler's chest, hands to his mouth, waiting for Tyler to move.

Tyler moves. He sniffs loudly and looks at Josh, the whites of his eyes pink. When he talks, his voice catches in his throat. "You—"

"Weren't supposed to move?" Josh finishes, dropping his hands from his face and rolling his eyes. "What is up with you and—?"

" _You_ ," Tyler presses, gathering the strength to deliver a pinch to the crook of Josh's arm. He only gets a bundle of fabric. "You were sleepwalking."

Josh blinks. "Oh." Tyler moves his hand to pinch Josh a second time. Upon gathering even more fabric than before, Tyler ends up holding Josh's forearm, rubbing it, petting. He sniffs again, louder. "Was I… was I just, like… about to leave the room or…?"

Tyler's nod is stunted. His face contorts; it hurts to move his head. "I called for you to come back, and you kept walking. I got up before you could figure out how to unlock the door and took you to bed. I was gentle. I didn't jostle you or try to wake you or anything. I thought maybe you were looking for something, so I decided to lay on top of you, but then you started to shake, and I sat on you because you—" He cuts himself off. Josh knows how the sentence ends. Tyler continues, "And then, you woke up and here we are." He gives a weak flourish of his hand.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"What did you dream about? You might have been trying to act out one of your dreams."

Josh shrugs. "I don't know."

They're quiet. Tears leak from Tyler's eyes, silent, and he sniffs for a third time. It's soft, pitiful. His thumb moves along Josh's forearm, still rubbing. Before he can open his mouth to say something, Josh steps from the bed and picks up his pajama pants from the floor. "I'll be back." He steps into the bottoms, ignoring the come stain, and digs out a hand towel from his duffel bag. He makes sure it doesn't smell before he leaves the room.

Four in the morning, there is minimal activity in the motel. The hallway lights are flickering more now than they were last night, and Josh passes a woman with sunglasses on his way to the ice machine. The floor is cold, seeping up Josh's socks and curling around his ankles. The rubber soles on the bottom prevent him from sliding in front of the machines. Slippery, Josh raises on tiptoe to pluck the ice cubes from the machine and drop them one by one into the hand towel. He puts enough in the towel so the numbing freeze would be felt while the towel could safely be tied together without worry of the ice escaping the confinements. Josh's hands are on their way to being frozen when he enters his room. "Hey," he says.

Tyler has managed to sit upright in the amount of time it took Josh to gather ice. Eyes still pink, cheeks still wet, Tyler has a leg to his chest and his chin to his knee. He's looking at the TV, which is now turned on once more. Tyler is holding onto the remote, his index finger poised on the up channel button. "Hi," he says.

Josh gets into bed, sticking his legs under the blankets. "Here." It's awkward because the side Josh abused is farthest away. He chews on his lip. "Turn a little."

Tyler does without question. At the cool press of ice to the sore spot, Tyler's lips tremble, and a delicate sough leaves. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do."

Tyler takes over, holding the towel to his head, and Josh falls onto his back. He is barely able to fathom the possibility of sleep for the remainder of the allotted timeframe. Tyler seems to sense this, too, because he's scooting closer to Josh, grabbing onto the bunch of fabric at Josh's elbow. "Do you want to play twenty questions?" he asks.

"No."

He slowly nods and readjusts the makeshift icepack. "Mm, well, can we kiss a little more?"

"I hurt your head pretty hard."

"I know. Gotta kiss it and make it better."

Josh sighs. He leans up, gives Tyler's lips a quick peck, and then falls onto his back again. He sticks an arm behind his head. "Anything else?"

There's something devilish behind Tyler's eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes, you can do something else for me."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

"I kinda need to know now, so I can, like, prepare myself. What if I say no?"

"You won't say no," Tyler says simply. "You were planning to leave in the morning anyway. Where? Nobody knows. You don't even know yourself. You're running from something, Josh, and I think that something is yourself. You're homeless. You're alone. You fill that void with whatever comes your way. And now? That _whatever_ is me."

Josh's fingers curl into the blankets. "Okay." He glances at the TV, then at Tyler. "So, what if you're right? What does that say about me?"

"You need me."

Josh snorts. "No, I think _you_ need _me_."

Tyler smiles. "That's right, Josh. That's _exactly_ right."

*

A miracle, Josh sleeps well into the afternoon. And when he wakes this time, Tyler isn't sitting on his chest. Tyler's awake, though, stretched out on his back, a hand lazily stuck beneath a pillow while the other hand sets on his stomach, fingers carefully kept underneath the waistband of his boxers. The posture isn't sexual, just comfortable. Tyler is watching some reality TV show, occasionally sniffing. The towel looks damp where it rests at the head of the bed, safe to soak the parts of the sheets they're not occupying. Peaceful in the slow late afternoon sun, Josh turns onto his side and faces Tyler, taking this time to pop his ankles and wrists while Tyler curls the fingers in his boxers and tilts his head to the side.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Tyler's nose wrinkles a little as he sniffs. "I know I, like, told you I needed to do something, but… but do you mind if we lay here for a little longer?"

Josh finds it ridiculous Tyler has to ask that. "Yeah. I need a few minutes to wake up anyway."

Tyler slowly nods his head. He doesn't wince, which Josh takes as a somewhat good sign. Josh doesn't know the specifics of Tyler's want to lay here with him, and he doesn't question it. His body is heavy, almost like he's being weighed down; he blames this on his abnormal sleep schedule. Josh was never one to sleepwalk—as far as he was aware—and now the thought of actually getting up while he slept and leaving the bedroom worries him. All those nights Josh spent in his car, what if he did something more dangerous than leave the vehicle and take steps outside? What if Josh were to start his car and _drive_?

He doesn't want to think about that.

It's time to focus on waking up, on getting ready for whatever Tyler wants him to do. A number of things pop into Josh's head, all of which don't make sense. Tyler is strange. Tyler is something else. Josh can't get a read on him.

Even now, Tyler does the unpredictable—sort of. "Hey, could you check something for me?"

His tone is casual. Josh expects it to be about the weather. He rolls onto his stomach and is already reaching for his phone when Tyler finishes his request.

"Could you see if I'm clean?"

It's blatant. It's blunt. Josh blinks and grabs his phone all the same. "I'm not a doctor," he says, "so do you just want me to, like, Google pictures and compare?"

"Yeah." Tyler sniffs again. His skin is dark, red on his cheeks. The confident persona is gone. "It doesn't itch anymore, but…"

Josh pulls up a picture and places his phone on Tyler's chest. "Could you…?"

"Yeah." Tyler slides his thumbs into the waistband and shoves down his boxers until they rest around his thighs. His cock is soft, gingerly set on the top of his thigh. Josh can't help but stare at the thing as Tyler continues to talk. "It was only up front. Not… behind." He shrugs a shoulder. "They were gone. I just needed to be sure."

"Right." Josh snaps out of it. He shakes his head and leans forward, on his elbows with his eyes narrowed. Phone unlocked and opened to the Google image search, Josh drifts from the pictures on the screen and the real person lying in front of him. Josh doesn't want to touch. He doesn't know if anything will happen if he touches. "Can you, like—?"

Tyler immediately understands. He cards his fingers through the coarse hair at the base of his penis, pulling it back, allowing Josh an easier access to see just what might hide alongside the hair and the skin. Josh doesn't see anything at all, not even a sliver of something that might resemble what Google says. He tells Tyler this, and Tyler nods. This time, he winces, and Josh feels horrible. "I thought so," he says, and continues to run his fingers through his pubes. It's done absently, like Tyler is like any other person twirling a lock of hair around their finger. "So, uh," he goes on, brow furrowing in either thought or pain. Josh can only assume how much pain his head must be in right now. "Uh," Tyler tries again, "do you want to suck on it or something?"

Embarrassing himself further, Josh fights to swallow the excess drool that's collected in his mouth. "I stand by what I said before," Josh says. "Get an all-clear from your doctor, and then I'll consider it."

Tyler is satisfied with that answer. It's one he expected. He pulls up his boxers. "Can you kiss me?"

Josh allows Tyler that. They cup cheeks and hold necks. They whimper and hug. Josh forces himself to break away, to stand from the bed, to get on with his day. His day is almost gone. He slept, and Tyler slept, and Tyler is getting up from the bed and telling Josh he'll meet him out front, and would Josh care if Tyler drove his car?

"Don't you have a car?"

Tyler frowns.

Josh frowns, too. "Never mind. Sure, you can drive."

It's chilly. Josh keeps on his sweatshirt and flips his hood onto his head. Duffel bag in his fist and his backpack on his shoulder, Josh leaves as he arrives: tired and wanting to suck on a stranger's big cock.

Tyler is leaned against Josh's car, a bag of his own on his back and sunglasses on his face. The sun is low in the sky, but Tyler doesn't care. The shades resting on the bridge of his nose are large and white, and Josh thinks he looks a bit like a bug, especially when it's paired with his over-sized green parka.

No greetings are exchanged. Josh unlocks the car and pops open the trunk. Their bags drop in with the spare blankets and pillows Josh managed to snatch from his parents' house. Tyler doesn't comment, just glides into the car, adjusting the seat before he touches the steering wheel. And even before that, Tyler drags out a packet of cigarettes and lights up. Josh lets him. His car has seen worse.

They drive through the city, Tyler hanging his arm out the window as the cigarette hangs from his lips. The radio is on. Josh picks a hole through his jeans.

"Hey," Tyler says, and pulls the wheel to the right, off onto a side road. "There's a clinic up here." Josh doesn't ask how Tyler knows that. He must have seen a sign somewhere down the line.

"There's a clinic," Tyler repeats, flicking his cigarette from the window, "and then we can check into a hotel."

Josh moves on to pick at his nails. "Where are we going? You never said."

In the parking lot of the clinic, Tyler ditches his sunglasses and tosses them onto the dashboard. "Where are you from?"

"Ohio."

Tyler nods. "Same."

"Are we going to Ohio?" Josh's stomach twists. "I just came from there."

"Well, we're going back. Columbus, particularly. I need to… see someone." Tyler narrows his eyes and releases his seatbelt. "Want to wait in the car? This won't take long."

Josh dials up the heat as his response. Tyler goes into the clinic. Late, no doubt only treating those with brutal, early hangovers and worrisome symptoms of a less-than-likely heart attack, Tyler is in and out, a roll of paper in his hand as he walks back to Josh's car. Head low, coat zipped all the way to his chin, Tyler is cold, and he's shivering as he joins Josh in the comfortable heat.

"Here," he says, casting the papers Josh's way and adjusting the rear-view mirror. "Consider it."

Josh takes the papers and skims, then reads more fully. Tyler is licking his lips. Tyler is watching him. Tyler is saying, "I'll find a hotel. I'll pay for it."

Tyler is clean. Tyler is driving down the highway.

"Shouldn't we drive through the night?" Josh folds the papers and stuffs them into the sun visor above his head. "Don't you need to see someone?"

"Yes." Tyler sets his jaw. "But they can wait another night."

It's not family, then, who Tyler is going to see, or it might be. Josh wouldn't dream of standing up his family, not now, not after his mom pointed at the front door and told him to not even think of returning. Josh managed to not think of his bed for the first week on the road. He was at peace, and he enjoyed seeing autumn in different states. His car's backseat was poor on his spine, and he often went to sleep with an empty stomach, but Josh swiped his mom's debit card on his way out the door, and it hasn't been declined as of yet. He begins to wonder if she ever used it, or if she has noticed the theft and decided to allow him this small break. He's still family. He's still her son.

Tyler must be running from something, too, but Josh admires that he is attempting to set things right, whatever they might be and however delayed. "Only for tonight," Tyler says, finding a parking spot. "We'll leave in the morning."

Josh takes his duffel bag with him, clean clothes inside. Sometime soon they'll need to stop at a laundromat.

Tyler checks them in under "Joseph". Josh hates the way Tyler makes him feel, especially when Tyler walks to their room. One foot in front of the other, Tyler's shoulders are back, his hips are swaying, and their room key swings and swings around his index finger. A man on a mission, Josh presses his fingernails into his palms. "Tyler," Josh says, "I don't have anything."

But Tyler brought his backpack with him, and Josh doesn't need Tyler to say a thing for him to know Tyler is prepared.

This room is neater. The TV is bigger, and there are no cracks in the ceiling. "Have you considered it?" Tyler sets the key on the side table, fingers grabbing the zipper on his parka. He drags it down, down, down, and Josh follows that motion. Knees dropping to the carpet, they'll bruise from the harsh sinking.

"Yes." Josh keeps the hood on his head. "I… I can—"

Tyler shushes him, a hand to Josh's chin, pinching his cheeks together. "I'll tell you what you can do, okay? I'll tell you what to do, baby."

Josh finds Tyler already hard in his jeans. It's wonderful, it's… God, Josh thinks this is magical. As Tyler works off his coat and shirt, Josh focuses on his pants. Button coming undone, zipper slowly sliding down, Josh is waiting to feel the heat from Tyler's genitals, but that warmth doesn't come. Josh unlaces Tyler's shoes and lets Tyler step from them, preoccupying his time to slide the rest of Tyler's clothing from his body. The warmth isn't here either. Tyler's cock is cold. Josh takes it in both hands, the length sticking out ramrod straight and _cold_.

Tears well up in Josh's eyes. He says nothing, just leans in and spits, tongue flicking out to touch the tip. Tyler gasps, and Josh closes his eyes.

This isn't the first time Josh got on his knees for some guy. He will admit this is the first time he's done this with a dick longer than four inches—and definitely thicker. When he gathers the courage to wrap his lips around Tyler's cockhead, Josh can barely get it all inside. Tyler helps, though, tangling his fingers in Josh's hair at his crown. Hood still up, Josh places his hands on his thighs and lets Tyler show him his limits. Tyler goes slowly at first, only letting the tip move past Josh's lips and run along Josh's tongue. "So good," Tyler whispers, inching more and more of his cock in Josh's mouth. " _Ah_ , there you go, so good for me."

Somehow Tyler thinks Josh is beautiful with wet eyes, snot running from his nose, and pre-come and saliva coating his lips. "On the bed. I'll show you how beautiful you are."

This mattress is soft and not at all like the rock in the motel. If Josh were to stick his fingers in Tyler's head and shake and shake, Tyler wouldn't receive massive injury. The night wouldn't take that turn. Tyler is gentle. He kisses Josh and holds him, his dick against Josh's clothed one. Despite the layers, Josh gets chills. Tyler's cock is hard, pumping full of blood, and it's cold. It's so cold.

Josh wiggles from his clothes while Tyler fishes out lube from his bag. He doesn't bother with a condom. Josh is okay with that.

"I'm topping," Tyler says, and coats his fingers with the lubricant. "You know that, right?"

Josh swallows. "I—"

Tyler's hand sticks between Josh's legs. The pads of his fingers rub over Josh's hole. "I'll go easy. I'll go slow. Do you trust me?"

There's that look again, burning wood. Josh covers Tyler's eyes with a palm and shakes his head. "I trust you enough."

Four fingers stretch Josh before Tyler rolls onto his back and pulls Josh on top. "So loose." He kisses Josh's ear, hands grabby on Josh's ass. He squeezes, fingertips running up and over Josh, open, slick. "You ready for me?"

Josh nods. "I'll try."

Tyler uses more lube than necessary. It's okay. He presses into Josh, and it only hurts a little at the start. "Don't stop," Tyler says, hands on Josh's face, forcing his eyes to open, to stare. "Don't stop until you have it all inside."

It's okay. It's okay, it's okay. Josh shuts his eyes. Tyler kisses him, lips parted and breath catching. "Talk to me."

"It feels so good." Josh touches Tyler's chest. His fingers tremble. "You're, like, _right there_."

"Bounce for me. Get yourself off."

The stretch is painful, but it's a good painful if there ever was a good painful. Every single move causes Josh to sigh, to groan, to whine. More tears eat at Josh's ducts. They leak freely. Josh doesn't have to fist his cock to reach his orgasm. He comes all over himself after three minutes of riding Tyler's cold cock, and for the next twenty, Tyler has Josh on his back, fucking into him, no mercy, no stopping. Josh is crying, sobbing, shouting at the walls. Tyler fucks him, and Josh's next orgasm is dry, but he goes through the full-body tremors. It's powerful, one of the best experiences Josh has ever had, and Josh feels empty once Tyler leaves to sit on his heels.

"Put it back in," Josh says, voice hoarse. "I need it back in. Please." He's shivering.

"Dirty boy." Tyler leans over, kisses Josh's forehead. "You need a plug, don't you? Keep my come inside you."

Josh closes his eyes.

In that in-between stage of sleep and being awake, Tyler prattles about the room, washcloth in hand. He cleans Josh and covers him with the blankets.

For once, when Josh wakes, Tyler is sleeping and not sitting on his chest.

Josh doesn't believe his eyes. He rubs them and rubs them until he can see blobs of color when he shuts them. This is a façade. Tyler isn't peaceful. Tyler is chaos.

Tyler's guard is down. He's rude when he wakes, ordering Josh around, telling him to move along, move along. "We need to go," he says, zipping up his jacket, shoving his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. "We need to _go_."

No breakfast, Josh hugs his knees and is thankful Tyler decides to drive again today. It hurts to move. It aches. Josh whined while getting dressed, and Tyler rolled his eyes. He's rolling them now, behind his insect lenses, and absently shaking his head as he beats his palms against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio.

They're going to Ohio. Josh doesn't want to go home, but maybe he won't. Maybe they'll stick together. That would make the most sense, wouldn't it? Josh needs to fulfill Tyler's favor, whatever that entails. Tyler never gave any specifics, and Josh fears he won't know the extent of Tyler's plan until they are in Ohio. Would he be able to ditch Tyler in Ohio as soon as he learns of the plan? Would that be rude? This is Josh's car. This is Josh's car.

"One more day, I'd say," Tyler concludes, pulling into the lot of a shitty motel. This one, at least, looks like they provide more than an ice machine on every floor. "We'll get there tomorrow night, at the latest."

"I can drive us," Josh says. "I can keep going."

Truth be told, Josh doesn't want to move from his seat. He knows the stretch will help his legs, but the stretch will also hurt, and Josh doesn't want to be in pain. Tyler can see right through him.

"Nonsense. You're tired. Come on. I'll pay for the room."

And this time, Josh sits down on Tyler's cock and bounces. He bounces, and it doesn't hurt. He bounces, and it's cold, it's hard, and it's so painful Josh begs for Tyler to fuck him harder.

And this time, when Josh wakes, Tyler is sitting on his chest.

"Get off," Josh whispers. "Please. I don't—"

"Can you move?"

Josh's arm is weak, but he manages to raise it, to limply smack his palm into Tyler's ear. Familiar, Tyler winces. Tyler frowns. "How can you move?"

Josh closes his eyes. "Just… let me sleep."

The weight on his chest grows heavy, heavier, and Josh finds it hard to breathe. " _Tyler_."

Tyler is licking Josh's cock, a gentle suction, a low hum. Josh thinks he might have fainted because when he opens his eyes, there's light outside, and Tyler is zipping up his parka and sliding on his sunglasses. "I let you sleep in," he explains, "because you look like shit."

"Can I shower?" Josh asks. "I think it's because I need to shower."

Tyler fiddles with the zipper, jaw set in thought. "I'll get some breakfast."

Josh waits to leave the bed, getting up when Tyler shuts the door behind him with a quiet hand. Josh's legs fail him. He crumbles to the floor immediately and finds it hard to gather the strength to stand. Josh drags himself the rest of the way, hands and knees rubbing themselves raw against carpet and tile flooring. He feels like some sort of creature, crawling from the depths of hell. Everything burns.

Instead of a shower, Josh settles on a bath. He climbs in and sinks down, down, down, until the flat bottom of the tub is cradling the curve of his spine. Like a palm rocking him to sleep, Josh bends his legs and holds his thighs to his chest. This position is uncomfortable, but it's going to be okay. Josh closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. He slips under the water. It's going to be okay.

It's going to be okay.

Tyler is on the bed. He stands and sits back down. "You were in there for a while. I thought you…" Tyler shrugs.

Josh walks, careful, his heels hitting the floor. "I'm okay."

The vending machine down the hall had donuts. Chocolate, powdered, Josh eats both packages with his legs swinging off the edge of the bed. He's dripping wet from his shower, naked and sluggish. Tyler watches, and Tyler doesn't watch. Sunglasses on, jacket zipped all the way to his chin, Tyler looks alien next to Josh. Josh says, "Do I still look like shit?"

Tyler says, "Yes."

Tyler says, "But it'll go away soon."

Josh dresses warmly. They're on their way to Ohio.

No radio, no music, no distraction, Tyler sticks a cigarette in his mouth. "Tell me about yourself," he says. "I know hardly anything about you."

"My name's Josh." Josh has his legs to his chest again. He unties and reties his shoes. "You know what? You can probably guess, and you'll be right."

A pause, Tyler shakes his head. "No. I want to hear it from your mouth."

"I don't know what to say."

"Why are you running?" Tyler prods.

Josh looks out the window. "My parents kicked me out. I… I was reckless. Played my music too loud, came home late, kissed too many boys and not enough girls." His fingers curl. "I told them I didn't think I believed in God anymore. I told them I didn't believe in _anything_ anymore."

Ashes land on Tyler's thigh. He doesn't brush them away, only says, "I think Tyler believed too much."

The moment is gone. It's too late to ask. Josh watches the smoke from Tyler's cigarette fly out the window and join the clouds overhead.

*

They cross state lines at one in the morning.

"We can sleep in your car tonight, I think." Tyler smells like cigarettes, but he stopped chainsmoking them two hours ago. "Unless…" Lips parting, Tyler chews on the inside of his cheek. "We could… go to your parents' house and sleep on the couch."

Josh frowns. "Did you happen to conveniently forget I told you my parents kicked me out?"

"It doesn't matter," Tyler says, and he's loud, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel. "Even _I_ know parents aren't that cruel. We'll just be on the couch. We'll leave early. It doesn't matter." He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

So, with many reservations, Josh tells Tyler where he lives, where he used to live, and now they're driving, driving, driving.

"Do you like kids?" Tyler smells like cigarettes. He's lighting up one, staining the interior of Josh's car even more.

The question is so out there, Josh thinks he heard incorrectly. He blinks. "What?"

"Kids," Tyler says. "Do you like them?"

Josh furrows his brow. "They're okay. I mean, I probably wouldn't want one now because I'm _not ready_ , but… I like them. They're okay."

"They're okay."

"They're okay."

Cigarette in his mouth, Tyler pulls into Josh's neighborhood. "Do you have any siblings?" He drums his fingers. "People who lived with you."

"A brother. Two sisters."

Tyler licks his lips.

Josh asks, "What about you?"

Tyler doesn't answer. Josh hugs his knees.

The house is undisturbed. Josh's mom switched out the flags in the flowerbed. There's a smiling pumpkin instead of the standard "Welcome!" Josh didn't think he'd miss the yellow Comic Sans, but he does. He really does. He stands in front of the flowerbed, head low, smiling at the dying tulips and weeds taking over the soil. Tyler is beside him, hands in his coat, visibly agitated. "Come on," he says. "I'm tired."

Josh's key still fits. As it's turning, he realizes it would have been a bit much if his parents were to change the locks. Like Tyler said, Josh is their son. They care for him, in their own way.

After stepping into the doorway and coming face-to-face with the living room and its off-white walls, Josh crumbles to the carpet. He was weak since the start of their drive, and the sight of his old home breaks him, causes him to curl into a fetal position, and creates a wave of sobs to escape his lungs in hard-to-control breaths. Tyler is next to him, a hand clapping over his mouth. "Stop," Tyler hisses, and shakes Josh. "They'll _hear_ you."

Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler stands. "Get some sleep. You need it."

Somehow, somehow, _somehow_ , Josh sleeps. He thinks he dreams. He hears gasps and creaking wood and is reminded of monsters hiding in the closet, but when he opens his eyes, he doesn't feel refreshed at all. When he opens his eyes, Tyler is staring at him with impossibly wide eyes, lips parted. He said something. Josh furrows his brow and touches Tyler's chest. He feels heavy, like he's being soaked in water.

"You were walking," Tyler says, "again."

"Where did I go?"

"Outside."

Josh turns his head. He can see the rising sun. "We need to leave. My parents—"

"—are still asleep." Tyler presses his palm to Josh's cheek. His skin is cold. "Are you ready to leave?"

"You fucking said—"

Tyler is out the door.

Josh struggles to catch up, to leap from the porch, to shove Tyler out of the way. "Lemme fucking drive. It's my damn car."

Tyler shoves back, then takes Josh's arm and thrusts him into the backseat. "You're fucking _insane_. Chill out. Sleep."

"I can't sleep," Josh says, self-awareness coming over him like a flood, like a fucking lightning strike. "I don't think I've slept at all. I don't feel okay, Tyler. Tyler, take me somewhere."

"You're fine." Tyler starts the car, a new cigarette in his mouth. "Just a sleepwalker. Thought you almost walked in on me and your sister, but that was just the front door opening."

A migraine, Josh covers his face with his hands. "What are you _talking about_?"

Tyler ignores that. "You know, just lying down gives you more rest than you realize. Close your eyes and think of something good."

Josh thinks of sleeping in his own bed without disturbance. He has more dreams about gasps and monsters in the closet, and when he wakes, his cock is in Tyler's mouth. They're parked beneath a streetlamp, the sun setting in the distance, and Josh shudders as he comes down Tyler's throat.

Josh feels awful. Tyler hums and licks his lips. He doesn't say anything, just climbs into the front seat and starts driving again. Josh's head thumps, thumps, thumps. He thinks of getting into the passenger seat and weaving his fingers into Tyler's hair, pulling it, and shoving Tyler's face into the steering wheel. He thinks of the horn blaring, of Tyler swerving, of the car going off the road. He thinks of crashing, of dying, and Josh thinks death would be more peaceful than whatever he's under right now.

"Tyler," he says, and climbs into the passenger seat. "I think I need to go to the doctor. I think I'm really sick."

"That's what happens when you fuck with me," Tyler says, as he lights another cigarette. Josh leans his head on the window sill and watches the clouds disappear to be replaced by clouds.

"Where are we going?"

Flick, flick, the ashes from Tyler's cigarette drift out the window at a red light. "I'm going to see someone."

"And…? What happens after?"

"We're going to drive."

It's so vague it pisses Josh off to the point he slams his fist into the dashboard. "Fuck you," he says. Tyler doesn't flinch. " _Fuck you_. Where are you taking me?"

"Her name's Jenna," Tyler says, loudly, now visibly shaking. He won't look at Josh. "Her name's Jenna, and she won't let me see my son."

Josh wants the mystery back. "You have a kid?"

"A toddler," Tyler mumbles, arm hanging from the car window, letting the air try to extinguish the cigarette.

"Why won't she let you see him?" Josh frowns. "Did you… do something? Is it actually yours? I don't understa—"

"It doesn't matter." Tyler's eyes are narrowed behind his sunglasses. "I'm going to see him."

Before Josh can ask how, they're sliding into someone's front yard, completely missing the driveway and parking right in the grass. Josh's front bumper is kissing the porch, the headlights bright and insulting to the dirty brick of the home. Josh stares at the house, and then stares at Tyler, eyes wide, mouth open. "Tyler, what are you—?"

Tyler slams his fist into the horn.

"Tyler!" Josh smacks Tyler's hands. "Tyler, _stop_."

"Go the fuck to sleep," Tyler says, and hits Josh's cheek with the back of his hand. "You look like shit." He honks again.

A woman steps from the house, pajama pants, big sweatshirt, slippers on her feet, her blonde hair swept into a messy bun, her bangs cut short, her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. "You!" she shouts, surprised, angry. She's so fucking angry. "Get the hell out of my sight!"

Tyler grins and sucks on his cigarette. It's sick.

Jenna, Josh presumes, turns her gaze to him, and she looks _frightened_. "Can you move?" she asks, and Josh isn't annoyed when she asks it. She steps forward, the headlights illuminating her like an aura. "Please tell me you can move."

"He can move," Tyler says, bored. "He doesn't listen to me."

Jenna's amazed. She stretches out an arm, fingers curling around the air. "Get out of the car. Get away from him."

Josh does. Tyler doesn't care. He blows out cigarette smoke.

"You poor thing," Jenna says, stepping from the porch and going over to Josh. She touches his face, warm hands caressing dry skin, picked-at skin, skin that Tyler has bitten and kissed and licked. "How long have you known him? How long has it been?"

It hurts to think. Josh closes his eyes. "Maybe a week?"

Jenna hugs him. Warm, her arms wrap around his neck and hold him close. She whispers in his ear, "You need to leave. You need to stay away from him. He will _ruin_ you. You will die."

Josh believes her.

"Jenna," Tyler sings, poking his head from the window. "I—"

"Fuck you," she spits, spinning to face Tyler. "You gave me crabs. I couldn't breastfeed."

"How is he?" Tyler asks, and he gets out of the car. Jenna turns pale. "Lemme see him."

"He's asleep."

"Lemme see him," he repeats.

"No, you fucking somnophile. You won't take him."

"I just wanna see the little cambion." Tyler walks, he walks, and Jenna uses two hands to push him back toward the car.

"Get away. I'll call the police."

Josh falls to the grass, knees buckling, smashing his palms into his eyes. Jenna is next to Josh, arms encompassing him again. He breathes, he smells, and Jenna is peaceful. Jenna is everything right in this moment. "You're okay," she tells him, and brushes his hair from his face. "I know it seems like you aren't, but you are. You're still alive. You need to leave."

Tyler watches them.

Josh's chest tightens. "But Tyler—"

"That's not Tyler," Jenna says. "Did he tell you his name was Tyler?"

Tyler smiles. He gets onto the porch, and Jenna shoots up. She races toward him, grabbing him, pulling him, and he grabs her, shoving, twisting her arms, and Jenna screams. Josh scrambles from the ground and runs. He moves past Jenna, past Tyler, and closes the door. He smashes Tyler's fingers.

"Upstairs!" Jenna tells Josh, her voice muffled by the door. "He's upstairs."

Josh runs. He runs. He hears the front door opening and feet running, but Josh runs, and he closes this door, too, and turns the lock.

In a crib, in the corner of the room, rests a baby covered in a pink blanket. His little fingers are clutching a stuffed rabbit. He sleeps, oblivious to all. Josh stands over him, touching the crib's railing. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He digs out his phone, opens up the Internet browser. The spelling might be off, but searching the word "cambion" answers most of Josh's questions, no matter how outrageous it appears to be.

 _In mythology and literature_ , it reads, _a cambion is the offspring of an "incubus or succubus" and a human._

Josh looks at the infant, stares at his opening eyes. They're the color of burnt wood.

Three knocks on the bedroom door, it's Jenna. "He went back to the car." She pauses. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Josh." He opens the door.

Jenna's crying. "Josh, I'm sorry you met him. You shouldn't be subjected to this turmoil."

"I don't understand what's going on."

The baby cries. It's a hacking noise, choking. Jenna doesn't get to him in time. The toddler is heaving, drooling all over himself, and Jenna is screaming again. Downstairs, in the front yard, in Josh's car, Tyler laughs.

Josh meets Tyler on the porch. He's smiling, eyes like wood, like fire, and Josh hates it. "Who are you?"

Tyler doesn't stop smiling.

"Fuck." Josh tries to sidestep, but Tyler is grabbing him, like he did Jenna, and it's rough, it's quick, his fingers in Josh's hair, as he rattles him, back and forth. They're in the motel room, Josh on top of Tyler and slamming his head into the tough mattress. Over and over, Tyler's head bounced, and Josh loved every minute of it.

Josh is held up by Tyler's fist. He squeezes his eyes shut, bites down on his bottom lip. He wants to cry. He wants to yell.

Tyler yells. Tyler drops Josh and holds his shoulder. Josh falls from the porch, landing on his wrists wrong. They crack. Josh hopes it's a sprain. Please, let it be a sprain.

On the doorstep, Jenna has a shotgun cocked, ready to shoot again. The first bullet tore through Tyler's shoulder, ripping through his parka and everything in between the bone. "Leave," she says, composed, "or next time, the bullet is going through your head."

Tyler coughs, saliva pink. "Come on, babe." He opens up his arms. "You're really going to kill your boyfriend?"

"Tyler died when you stole him from me." She raises the gun.

Josh crawls to his car as the next blast rings his ears. His wrists protest, but Josh slams the door shut and tugs on his seatbelt. His hands are shaking so damn bad.

In his attempt to reverse the car, he actually goes forward and breaks a headlight. The other barely hangs on. Josh struggles. He's crying, not wanting to raise his head, not wanting to see, see, see—

He reverses, and Tyler throws his body into the passenger side door. His lips are red, his chest open. "Hey, hey, hey," he says, and it's soft, his eyes dark, his skin pale. "Help me, please."

Josh continues to reverse. Tyler clings, Tyler hoists, Tyler crawls, Tyler falls, Tyler is in the car seat, spitting out blood and touching his face, wondering aloud what happened to his sunglasses. And Jenna? Jenna is on her porch, her shotgun still raised, shoulders straight, an eye closed. Jenna is aiming. Jenna is aiming.

Josh fumbles, hands trembling. He's driving, forward, forward, and Jenna is aiming, Jenna is pulling back the trigger.

Her bullet slices through the open window of the passenger side, entering and exiting Tyler's head at the base of his skull. It ricochets and catches in the backseat cushions, tearing the fabric and spilling the stuffing.

Tyler knocks his head against the dashboard, slumping, deflating. He doesn't move. Josh screams.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do. He's driving and driving, and Tyler doesn't _fucking move._ "Please, God, oh, my God." Josh cries, grip on the steering wheel weak. "God, holy _fuck_." The inside of his car smells like piss and shit, and Josh doesn't know what to do.

As they pass a streetlamp, Tyler stirs.

Josh screams. He swerves, nearly hitting another lamppost.

"Josh," he's whispering, bloody hand stretching out, curling and uncurling his fingers. "J-Josh, take… take this." And then, he's shoving that hand into the hole in his chest.

"Stop, stop, stop," Josh pleads. He starts driving, speeding, hitting the side of his head to jog his memory. He doesn't know why he thinks it's going to work. Everything is aching. Tyler is still digging inside his chest.

"My name's not Tyler," Tyler says, lazily raising his head to look out the windshield. "Tyler believed himself to be corrupt, so I took him. He gave himself to me. And now, you're going to give yourself to me."

"Shut up." Josh holds onto the wheel with two hands. He remembers.

"I want you to—"

" _Shut up_." Josh curves into a parking lot, nearly hitting a car to his left.

"You're going to—"

" _Shut up!_ " Josh stops the car in front of the double doors of the emergency room. He reaches behind Tyler, Tyler's body still slumped forward, and unlocks the door, shoving it open. It flies.

"Josh, I'm going to die if you don't take this."

In Tyler's palm, beating at an off pace, is his heart. But it isn't a heart. It isn't a heart. It can't be his heart.

Josh doesn't look. He can't look anymore. As he swings his legs and turns his body, Josh kicks with both feet with all his might, ejecting Tyler from his car. He flies. Tyler flies.

Josh closes the door with a slam and drives. He drives and thinks about turning around. He doesn't. He looks through his rear-view mirror and watches people in casual clothes and in scrubs rush to Tyler's side, taking his body, screaming, turning him, lifting him, staining their skin with blood, piss, shit, puke, spit, everything, oh, God, it's everywhere. Josh is too scared to cry, so he drives.

He drives and doesn't stop driving until he's on some back road connected to the highway, in the lot of a shitty motel. Josh checks himself in and fights tooth and nail with his wrists to get them wrapped in ice. Much like the makeshift ice pack on the night he spent with Tyler, Josh drops ice cubes in an old towel, packaging them up nicely so he can lie down and keep the swelling to a minimum, if all that's happened to his wrists turns out to be a sprain. He hopes it's just a sprain.

Josh falls face first into the bed. It's a rock. Josh closes his eyes and doesn't open them for two days.

*

His wrists are fine. He watches the news. He expects to hear something about Tyler. He does.

"A man from Columbus was found two days ago, lying in front of the doors of the emergency room. Just an hour ago, his condition was updated to stable, but the authorities are having trouble trying to get what exactly happened out of him. They say he isn't cooperating, but the man's parents have said their son is mute, and hasn't spoken a word in his life."

Cut to a woman named Kelly, "He's mute. Do you know what that means? He doesn't _talk_."

Back to the reporter, "The man came in with rather severe injuries that many witnesses in the ER can attest to, but when doctors examined him, he only had bruising around his neck and ribs. He wore clothing that suggested he had been violently harmed, but, again, the man seemed to only be suffering from minor injuries."

Josh closes his eyes.

"He was missing for a year, vanished from his home after a fight with his parents…"

Josh sleeps.

*

Josh wakes and watches the news. They're talking about Tyler.

"Yeah," a police officer says, arms over their chest, "the patient told us—well, wrote to us—that he believes he was possessed by an incubus for the past year. He doesn't remember much. We've spoken to his girlfriend, and she says she was in contact with him throughout this. She said she could tell something was off about him, though she didn't know what at the time."

Mumbling off screen. The police officer nods. "Yes, she is grieving. She recently lost her son. Yes, it was their son."

More mumbling. "Oh." The officer furrows their brow. "I think his parents say he just needs to go to church."

Josh sleeps.

*

This time, when Josh wakes, they aren't talking about Tyler. They're talking about _him_.

"They're looking for this car. It's believed the person driving it was with the man who was found just days ago."

Josh sleeps it off.

*

Nobody comes for him. They stop talking about his car.

*

Another week passes. Josh hasn't changed clothes. He hasn't showered.

His mom texts him. _Come home, Josh._

Josh does without question.

She's at the door, waiting for him. She hugs him, and he cries into her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says, and doesn't clarify. When she thinks he isn't looking, she stares at his car. Upon first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary, except for the smashed headlight, which Josh can say any old thing made it break. No, what's remarkable—to Josh, that is—is the absence of blood from his seats and the flooring. He was so sure Tyler bleed everywhere, spitting it up, coughing, touching anything he can with blood-stained palms as he dug inside his—

Josh shivers.

His mom asks if he's been doing okay. "You look well, like you've been getting enough sleep."

Josh says, "Yeah," and ignores the way his mom keeps looking at his car. If she were to inspect it, she would find no blood, only a ruined backseat where a bullet lodged itself inside. Josh wouldn't be surprised if that happened to disappear along with the blood. There isn't a doubt in Josh's mind that his mom suspects he might be involved with the _incubus_ of all things. Why else would she keep looking at his car?

He dumps his duffel bag in the laundry room. She touches his arm. "Let me do that. Go get washed up. Do you want anything specific for dinner?"

"Not really."

"That's okay, sweetheart."

Sitting around the table feels more awkward than it needs to be. Josh sits next to his brother, his two sisters across from them. Father on one end and Mother on the other, they twirl spaghetti around forks and try to force small talk. His brother wants to know all the places Josh visited, all the interesting people he met along the way.

So, since the meal is already awkward, Josh decides making it dial to an eleven wouldn't matter. "I'm glad you asked, Jordan. I met this one guy," he starts. His parents stiffen. His sisters glance at each other, and his brother is completely invested.

"Please tell me he had good taste in music," he says, and Josh laughs.

"We actually didn't do much talking about music," Josh says, and with a smile, "if you catch my drift."

"Josh," his mother whispers.

"He had a huge dick."

"Josh!"

Josh smiles. Jordan does, too. "Yeah, Mom?"

Her posture is perfect, her grip on her fork dainty. "Your sisters have some news to tell you."

They're tearing up.

Josh fears the worst. "What is it? What's wrong?"

They won't say a thing.

Jordan says, "Mom, don't."

"They're pregnant," she says, "and they're _keeping_ them."

Josh would have assumed they would have kept them anyway, but with his mother's reassurance, it seems as if… something is, in fact, _wrong_. And it doesn't take long for Josh to pinpoint just exactly what that something is because he remembers sleeping on the living room floor and dreaming about gasps and wood creaking and monsters in the closet. He remembers sitting in his car and Tyler saying he thought Josh walked in on his sister and him, him, Tyler, no, it wasn't Tyler. It wasn't Tyler.

He doesn't ask. He wished, if it had to be his sisters to fall victim to an incubus, it would only be one of them, not both. He says, "I'm happy for you two," to keep up appearances. That night, though, Josh goes to their rooms, sits on their beds, and says, "You don't have to go through with this."

In their own separate rooms, without the influence of anybody but themselves, they tell Josh the same answer, "I'm scared."

Josh says, "It's okay to be scared. You're going to be okay. You don't have to go through with this."

Josh says, "Did you know you were pregnant? Did you feel the… the fetus?"

Same answer. "No. It feels dead."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"No."

"Jordan and I can take you. And then… we'll go from there."

*

They decide to not abort.

Josh can't help but think they're being guilted into keeping them.

He doesn't know what else he can tell them other than "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay".

*

It was a matter of time his parents sat down and talked to him.

It was a matter of time his mom held out her hand and said she needed her debit card.

It was a matter of time Josh would be kicked out again.

"You're killing me," Josh says. "If you push me onto the streets, I will die, and that will be your fault."

His mom looks as if she doesn't feel any remorse. His dad, on the other hand, says he's sorry. He says, "I know the guy who owns the apartments downtown. He said he'll let you live there for free for the first month."

"See," his mom adds, "we're not _killing_ you."

They say he'll be allowed to move back in if he changes his way of living. Josh wants them to elaborate, but his dad shakes his head, and his mom presses her lips together.

"It's not the boys," she says. "We don't care if you like boys. We believe in God in this house, and _you would think_ all that talk of the man who was possessed by an incubus would strike the wrath of God in you."

"It didn't." Josh laces his fingers in each other. If lying had a taste, it would be in Josh's mouth. "It doesn't."

"You can call us if you need anything," they go on to say, their voices kind, but they're not kind at all. It's an obligation for them to speak like this because they're his parents. "Call us," they say, but Josh hears, "You're an adult; live your sorry excuse for a life."

And Josh does.

Josh does.

*

His new home is… well, it isn't bad. Josh doesn't hate it, but he also doesn't love it. He's tolerating it.

The complex only has three floors, with the floor in between serving as a sort of living space. Josh doesn't see himself dropping in to socialize anytime soon, not when he needs to fucking look for a job and learn to provide for himself. He's a twentysomething man who recently rebelled against his parents' strict upbringing, who snuck out one night and kissed too many boys and came home smelling of skunk. His parents didn't say anything then; they waited until Josh developed a routine where he never was home for the weekend. He became too tired to show up to church with them, and so, they started leaving copies of the Bible around the house, particularly in the bathroom and Josh's bedroom.

They were also extremely passive aggressive, but Josh ignored them.

And then, he was kicked out, and he drove and drove and met a Goddamn incubus in a motel, no pants on and burnt wood for eyes. Josh didn't want to blame all this on his parents, but he thinks if he were to not have been… _evicted_ , he wouldn't have met Tyler—

No, not Tyler. It wasn't Tyler. Not-Tyler. Not-Tyler. _Not-Tyler_.

Yes, he is living in the apartment without worrying about the rent for a month. Josh can't sit around and do nothing. After moving in—without the help of his family, at that—Josh immediately goes searching.

He applies to a local music store. They say they really weren't looking for any new workers, but they'll get back to him first thing if they begin hiring. Josh doesn't hold his breath.

He tries retail, a clothing store. He didn't know he had been folding his clothes wrong all these years. The first month flies by with no trouble. It's minimum wage, and if Josh didn't splurge on _anything_ , then he could definitely live on it.

But after that first month, Josh starts having sleep troubles again. He doesn't know why. He has a bed to fall into every night. He doesn't dwell on it. He can't.

His landlord tells him they catch Josh walking around late one night. Josh plays it off like he was heading toward the vending machines to grab a snack, which isn't that preposterous, if Josh could just remember standing and walking out of his fucking apartment. He debates on purchasing another lock for the door. Ultimately, he decides it's useless.

He gets another job—working third shift at Walmart. If he doesn't sleep, he doesn't sleepwalk. It works out.

His breaks are spent in his car, not caring how cold it's getting. Josh thinks he missed Thanksgiving.

On the fifth night in a row, sitting in his car, Josh takes up smoking. He coughs nonstop the first time he inhales. It gets easier. He hates how easy it becomes. He tells himself as long as he reserves his break for smoking, and nowhere else, then he should be okay. A social smoker, if there's even a thing like that.

Still stuck in the sun visor of the passenger seat, papers from a clinic are wrinkled around the edges. A clean bill of health, Josh fights the urge to read the patient's name as he rips it to shreds and shoves the droppings into his glove department.

With a cigarette hanging from his lip, Josh climbs into the backseat and begins poking the stuffing back into the cushions. No matter how much he prods and shapes, the seat will never resemble what it had looked like before a bullet tore through it.

Josh shoves his hand inside the ripped seam, too ruined, too destroyed, and Josh pushes his hand deeper, fingers stretching out and curling, uncurling, searching. The cigarette drops ashes onto the creases in the seat, but Josh leans forward, pressing his cheek to the headrest, his forearm now gone.

"There," Josh whispers, and yanks his arm from the confinements of his backseat, a bullet resting in his palm. It's clean, dangerous, and Josh's eyes fill with tears. He's frustrated, sick, and he flings his cigarette from the car window and jams the bullet into his glove department, burying it within the clutter. The obvious choice would be to forget this ever happened. Josh doesn't, though. Of course he doesn't. At the end of his shift, with the sun steadily rising outside, Josh buys wire and a chain. Both are silver in color. Josh sits in the driver's seat and ties the wire around the end of the bullet, wrapping it around three times, and then loops the wire on the chain necklace. He wears it, hides it beneath his shirt. It feels right.

*

A woman with kind eyes and a Medusa piercing repairs his headlights.

*

He quits his retail job and switches to the second shift at Walmart. Sleeping doesn't get easier.

On the day after Christmas, he sees Jenna picking through the leftover ornaments. Josh tells her hi. She says it, too, and frowns. "Oh," she sighs, "it's you."

They walk through the aisles, Josh pretending to help Jenna find something.

"How are you?" she asks. "You look…"

"Like shit."

She sticks her tongue in her cheek. "I wouldn't say that. _Tired_. You look tired." A brief pause, then, "I'm doing okay." Jenna looks tired, too. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"I was by myself." Josh shakes his head. "It's okay. I liked it. Slept. Probably can't tell, but…"

"Yeah." The corner of Jenna's mouth goes down, and Josh nods and says, "Yeah."

"It gets better," she says, and Josh believes her.

They hug, and she leaves with a red, fuzzy stocking with the white trim missing in places. The stocking is small in size. She has the threat of tears on her face—wet eyes, pink nose. She can blame it on the cold and the snow.

*

For New Year's, Josh sits in the lounge on the second floor of his apartment building and drinks with a boy with dark skin and no shirt. He asks Josh back to his unit, but the thought of sex makes Josh sick to his stomach. He politely declines.

He returns to working third shift and sleeps during the day. Everything falls into place.

*

Josh realizes he's a loser and that sex doesn't make him sick. The guy just reminded him of Not-Tyler. That's all there is to it.

Even if the guy didn't remind him of someone, Josh would have still said no. It feels good to say no. Josh is in control.

When it gets warmer, his mom texts him, wants to see how he's doing. He thinks she forced Josh's siblings to not contact him. He doesn't like that.

 _I'm fine_ , he sends her, and it's so believable Josh almost tricks himself. This thought alone causes him to re-evaluate almost _everything_ in his life. He was never one to be depressed, but he isn't so sure he can say the same now. Day by day, he's getting by—day by day, he's living day by day, and that isn't such a bad way to live.

A pleasant breeze, the sun high in the sky, Josh plays with the bullet around his neck. It still feels right.

His mom texts him again, and when he doesn't reply, his phone rings. This time, it's Jordan. Josh answers, "Yeah?"

"Dude," he says, " _labor_."

Josh drives to the hospital, and Jordan calls him as he's pulling into the parking lot. "What, what?" Josh shuts the car door and starts inside. "I'm here. Just tell me what room."

"No," Jordan says. Solemn, quiet, Jordan says, "Don't."

"They…" Jordan sighs, shaky. "Stillborn. Both of them. Josh, you shouldn't see this."

"Tell me what room."

Josh stares at each baby. They don't even look human—blue skin, purple lips, their eyes bulging from their skulls, the color of burnt wood.

"Should have had that abortion," Josh deadpans. His mom smacks her palm into his ear. Everything rings. Josh's chest aches.

That night, he quits his job. He deserves to be happy.

*

The music store still isn't hiring, so he applies to the comic book store next door. It's small, always filled with kids and teens, and Josh feels safe. Feeling safe is good.

He gets the job.

Josh likes leaning on the glass tabletop by the counter and pointing at _Pokémon_ cards and chatting to the children. For once in his life, Josh is content, and contentment is a hell of a lot better than whatever he had been feeling for months. Josh sleeps as peacefully as he can, and as far as he knows, he hasn't sleepwalked.

His co-worker, a guy named Mark, thinks Josh is happy.

"Only known you for a few weeks," Mark says, "but, dude, you definitely light up the room."

Josh smiles. "I try."

*

It's almost been a year since Josh walked into that shitty motel and met a man in a large sweatshirt and no pants, the head of his cock capturing all of Josh's attention. Josh is ashamed to admit he still finds himself salivating at the thought of sliding that cock between his lips. He's read the Wikipedia entry about incubi, and it said a characteristic was the unnaturally big or cold penis. It makes sense. Josh wanted to cry when he touched it and found it was cold. The presence of the "or" makes Josh think the body the incubus possessed must have been blessed with being well endowed.

Josh doesn't often think about the time he spent with the man he knew as Tyler, which is _strange_ because Josh knows that should have fucked him up. Hell, the bullet continues to hang from his neck. Mark's questioned it on more than one occasion, and each time, Josh told him he thought it looked cool. Mark agreed. Josh can't tell anybody about Tyler, about Not-Tyler, about getting on his knees, about lying on his back, about spreading his legs and stretching for the thick cock, about begging for the thick cock, about crying and screaming and hitting and hitting and wanting a moment where he didn't wake to someone sitting on his chest.

He read that on the Wikipedia page, too. Sleep paralysis. Josh already had sleeping problems, and so he chalks that up to why he could move every time he woke to that pressure on his chest. Jenna called Not-Tyler a somnophile. Josh looked up somnophilia and learned it was when an individual was sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious. It's often called the sleeping princess, or beauty, syndrome. Naturally, this led to Josh wondering if he were sexually assaulted, if Jenna were raped, if his sisters were harassed.

Josh comes to the conclusion they weren't. On some level, they were all enticed by eyes the color of burnt wood. Just because the consequences of sleeping with an incubus were bad didn't cancel out they were interested in the act as it unfolded.

"Would you ever have sex with someone while they were sleeping?" Josh asks Mark one afternoon. No one is in the store. They start picking up customers around four and five in the evening.

Mark is on his phone. He slowly raises his head at Josh's question. "What?"

"Like, the person was sleeping, and you—"

"Okay," Mark cuts in, and rubs his chin in thought. "Only if we agreed on something like that beforehand. You know what I mean? Explicit consent."

Josh nods. He goes to stock the shelves with the new shipment they got that morning.

Two people walk in, two men, heads low as they share a joke. Josh turns away from them and slides in the latest issue of _The Walking Dead_.

Since the shop is small, and since there's hardly anyone here, Josh finds it easy to eavesdrop on conversations. This is hard to do when it seems only one of the two men is talking, but at the same time, it doesn't sound like he's having a one-way conversation. Josh watches them for a moment. One of the men is facing Josh while the other has his back to Josh. This one has a closely shaved head, a cut-off shirt, and appears to be holding a notebook and pen. He's writing, and the other man, tall, dark hair, wicked smile, reads it and replies verbally. Josh furrows his brow, but doesn't say anything. He returns to shelving.

From the counter, Mark, "Do you guys need any help finding anything?"

"Nah, we're just looking." A pause. "Actually, do you sell Nintendo 64 games?"

"Yeah, I'll show you what we got in the back."

Josh listens to the footsteps as he places a _Civil War II_ on the shelf. It must have been foolish of him to assume both the men followed Mark into the back room because the guy with the shaved head and the notebook is still here. He's stepping next to Josh, head tilted as he looks at every issue with intent eyes. Josh knows he can't shelf these as fast as the guy is looking at them, so it's only a matter of time he's running into Josh, walking past him, and Josh doesn't know if he wants the guy to leave. As weird as it sounds, Josh can smell the guy, and he smells pretty damn good.

Josh has to stretch to drop a _Dragon Age: Magekiller_ into its slot. And even after he does this, the guy is on his tiptoes and picking it up. Josh takes this time to stare at him, at the way his underarm hair clumps together with too much deodorant, the way his ribs are showing from this reach, the way his cheek gets a dimple from smiling.

This guy is _so fucking familiar_ , and Josh forgets how to breathe. This guy is _Tyler_ , not Not-Tyler, actual Tyler, Tyler the vessel, Tyler the body, Tyler the person. His hair's gone, and there's a lot of acne on his face, and stubble clings to his cheeks and mouth, and _okay_. Tyler looks normal—too normal. The Tyler Josh met, despite not being actually _Tyler_ , was perfect in every sense of the word—perfect hair, perfect skin; he didn't _sweat_. This… couldn't be the same guy Josh saw get shot through the head. It's impossible.

His eyes stray down Tyler's body, settling on his skinny jeans and the lump failing to be hidden by his shirt that hangs to his thighs.

This is Tyler.

Tyler carefully sets the comic on a more at-level shelf and pulls the pen from the spiral of his notebook. He scribbles something. Josh watches. The note is for him anyway.

_move along_

Josh blushes, heat crawling from his chest to attach to his neck. "Sorry."

Tyler's smiling. _s'okay_

This is Tyler. Josh heard on the news Tyler is mute. Josh heard on the news Tyler doesn't remember much of what happened when he was taken by that incubus. This is Tyler, and Tyler must remember that was their first exchange, at the motel, when Tyler wore a worn-out sweater with his flaccid dick hanging loosely between his legs. He must remember. He must remember.

Josh licks his lips. "So, uh, you know me?"

Tyler bites at his lip. _a little?_

"What do you remember?"

_i remember that bullet around your neck missing my brain_

Josh sticks the chain back in his shirt, but Tyler drops the notebook and pen to grab Josh's wrist, to hold Josh's wrist. Josh doesn't move. He lets Tyler touch the necklace, hoping, maybe, as farfetched as it sounds, that touching the cool metal would jog his memory. If something passes through Tyler, it's not visible on his face.

His brows are knitted together, chewing on his lip again as he runs his fingertips along the bullet. It's cool. Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler drops the bullet, then picks it up. He tucks it into Josh's shirt.

Josh opens his eyes. He bursts out laughing when Tyler does a jerking-off gesture with his hand.

"Yeah," Josh says, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes. "We definitely had sex."

Notebook in his arms, Tyler writes, _i remember bits and pieces of that_

Josh says, "What else do you remember?" He can hear Mark talking.

Tyler lowers his head and raises a leg, a flamingo, to balance the notebook on his thigh. He writes, _i didn't tell anybody this but i remember doing bad things. i remember sleeping with boys and girls and people i didn't know. i wasn't myself but in an abstract sort of way, i would have definitely done all those things anyway, just… safer? when the doctor was out of the room i looked at my folder and i didn't remember anything in my file. i had crabs?_

Josh is reading upside down. He laughs. Tyler raises his gaze, smiles a tad, and returns to writing.

_i was horrible to my girlfriend. i think we had a kid? i remember telling her before all this happened i wanted to sleep with her but i was too shy to do anything but… i don't know what happened. god punished me. or maybe he helped me. i had sex and kissed so many beautiful people. that's good, right?_

"Right."

Tyler's eyes are soft. They're not burnt wood. They're warm black coffee. _i don't know why i'm telling you this. i only remember sucking your_

Tyler shakes his head and flips the page. _i'm sorry if you think you know me. i'm not who you remember. i'm a good boy. i go to church. i don't talk. did i talk?_

"Yes." Josh's throat hurts.

_did i sound cool?_

Josh laughs. It's weak. "Definitely."

Tyler stares at him. His hand is shaking. _your name is josh?_

Josh nods.

_at least i remember that haha_

Tyler switches legs, his notebook on his left thigh now. His torso has to twist to write properly. Mark is showing the man Tyler was with the games they have locked under the glass countertop.

_josh, stop looking at me like that_

Josh covers his face with his hands. "Tyler," he whispers. "I think you need to leave."

Tyler is scribbling. _zack drove me, can't leave without him_

"Tyler," Zack says, arms full of Nintendo 64 games. "You find anything?"

Tyler shoves his pen into the spiral and takes the _Dragon Age_ comic from the shelf. He shows it to Zack, who smiles approvingly. He doesn't notice Josh. They're out of the store in two minutes.

Josh sits behind the counter.

"Did you get that guy's number?"

"No."

"Why not? You were totally into him."

Josh pulls the bullet from his shirt and holds it in his palm. "Mark, do you remember when that guy showed up after a year of being missing, and he said an incubus got a hold of him?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I used to go to high school with him."

Josh falters. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah!" Mark shrugs, no big deal. "We hung out a few times. His family was religious, and I mean _super_ religious. When the news broke out that he went missing, I was, like, I don't blame the guy, you know? His parents were probably suffocating, wouldn't let him do his own thing, had to follow Mommy and Daddy's plan for him. So, like, I get why he left. And, yeah, so what if he somehow got himself with a demon? I think it was bound to happen because of his parents. It all goes back to the parents." Mark sits on his stool, his phone a bridge for his knees. "Why do you ask?"

"That was the same guy. He… Okay, do you—?"

"You're fucking lying."

Josh continues, mind racing a mile a minute, "Okay, do you also remember how they talked about some person's car who people swear they saw the night he turned up? Yeah, that was my car, and I knew him, but I didn't _know_ him because he was possessed by some kind of _demon_ , and I don't believe in God, Mark. I don't believe in God anymore, but what the hell happened to him if God and Heaven and Hell aren't real? It's gotta be real for this shit to be happening. I don't know what I'm supposed to fucking believe now."

Mark pulls his feet on the uppermost rung of his stool. He looks as if he's seriously contemplating what to tell Josh, which Josh appreciates. He needs a thought-out answer. He needs someone to tell him what to do. He's confused. He's _lonely_.

But Mark can't get anything out. He's at a loss for words. "I don't know, Josh. I know this sucks, and I should have something… comforting to say, but I… just don't. It's fucked up. The world's fucked up. What do you want me to say?"

"That this guy's just sick in the head. That he wasn't possessed. That he used that as some kind of excuse so he wouldn't have to, to, to—I don't know." Josh shakes his head. "You're right, Mark. The world's fucked up. That's all there is to it."

"You don't gotta understand it." Mark's trying to be reassuring. It works.

"Thanks, man."

*

The next day, Tyler walks through the door. He's wearing another cut-off shirt, this one in a gray color. He starts toward the counter, notebook under his arm, and Mark takes this as his cue to occupy himself with sorting out their back room. Josh hates him.

Tyler puts his notebook on the counter, drawing out his pen and writing a short sentence, two words: _i'm sorry_

Josh tells him he shouldn't be. "You didn't know what was going on."

_i did though, kind of. it was like i was looking at my body, outsider looking in, that sort of thing. you know what i mean?_

Josh doesn't feel like talking. He nods.

_josh, i don't want you to think i'm… okay, i don't want you to think i'm some bible-thumping asshole who thinks if i pray hard enough my attraction to boys will go away. because i'm not and it won't. my parents on the other hand, they_

"Don't." Josh touches Tyler's hand. Tyler blinks. "Don't talk about your parents. Don't tell me they said you were corrupted, that you deserved whatever happened to you. Don't tell me anything like that. Tell me about yourself. Tell me how you've been doing."

Tyler blinks again. He sniffs. _well, i'm more confident ever since i… you know. i'm still shy, don't get me wrong. i'm just… better._

Tyler picks at a pimple on his cheek. _i thought about sleeping with a boy last night and i didn't hate myself in the morning._

Josh smiles. "Little victories."

Tyler moves to his chin. He digs in his nails. _did i hurt you?_ he asks, taking a left turn. _when i… wasn't myself. did i hurt you?_

"Yes." At Tyler's frowning, Josh adds, "It was more… mentally than anything. I was drained. Sleeping with you took its toll on my health."

_because of my big dick, right?_

It's so blunt, Josh is momentarily speechless. His eyes double in size, lips parted, and Tyler is all smiles, all dimples, looking as if he might bend in half and actually break into a fit of giggles. Josh doesn't answer. Tyler starts writing something again.

_even with that thing out of my system, i still find you attractive. but i won't blame you if your perception of me is warped. i may not know the full extent of what i did to you and other people but that doesn't make your experiences any less valid and_

Josh can't believe he's crying in the middle of a comic book store.

Tyler can't believe it either. He drops his pen and waves his hands around, fingers twitching as if they want to touch Josh, but are unsure if touching would be allowed. Tyler wants to offer safety. Tyler wants to show Josh it's okay if he cries. Tyler wants Josh to not be afraid.

"I'm fine," Josh tells Tyler, waving away Tyler's hands.

Tyler is looking at him, eyes wide and so fucking soft, it's just like when Tyler's chest was open, when Tyler was limp with a killer headache—Josh wonders if those moments were truly _Tyler_ and not, well, Not-Tyler. Could demons be soft? Could they stare at Josh and start to cry and whimper, or was that all Tyler?

Josh is so fucked.

"Can we, like, not do this here?" Josh plucks Tyler's pen from the counter, handing it back to Tyler before it rolls to the floor. "I'm on break in twenty minutes or so. Could you wait 'til then?"

Still twitching fingers and wide eyes, Tyler grabs his pen and clicks it in his fist as he nods. The pen returns to his notebook. He's nodding, nodding, too unsure to write something down, to even look at Josh. He's picking up his notebook and holding it to his chest, turning on his heel, and leaving the store. Josh watches him take a right and disappear from view.

Mark shows up. He acts like he wasn't listening, just strolls on over to the front counter and takes his seat on the stool, drawing out his phone. He doesn't say a thing. Josh doesn't either.

When it's his break, Josh is on Tyler's previous path, exiting the shop and taking a right. Josh disappears.

Tyler is in the small parking lot attached to the next-door smoothie bar, sitting atop one of the yellow stone bumpers in front of a parking spot. His knees are almost to his chest, serving as a table for his notebook. His hand is moving across the page quickly, getting down thoughts, emotions, whatever is going through his head. Josh is suddenly curious as to why Tyler doesn't talk. It couldn't be an illness from childhood, since when the incubus used his body as a host, words came out—and those were beautiful-sounding words, despite how vulgar they came to be. Josh considers if Tyler experienced trauma during his developing years, and then decides something like that is highly possible, if Tyler's parents are as evil as Josh is led to believe.

He stops walking once he's by Tyler, standing over him, not reading what's on the paper. "Hey," he says. Tyler clicks his pen, looks up. Josh waves. "We can go in my car, if that's okay. It's getting a little cooler."

Tyler stands and walks in step behind Josh, crossing the parking lot until they reach the piece of shit car with the scuffed paint. Instead of climbing into the front seat, Josh elects to opening the back door for Tyler, allowing him to get comfortable while Josh gets in on the other side. Tyler is on the cushion that was ripped apart, and he stares at the hole and the ruined stitching, and his expression is so… thoughtful, tender. Tyler's head is tilted, his eyes half-lidded, and his notebook rests on his lap, on the page he was writing on before Josh arrived. Josh can make out a few words. It reads as a testimonial. Is Tyler in therapy? Would his parents think it'd help him recover lost time, or would they be of the mind who thinks therapy is for _crazy people_ and their son is _definitely not one of those people, thank you very much_?

Josh doesn't know. He has Tyler in his car, shaved head, acne-covered face and neck, cut-off shirt, one skinny leg crossing over another. Tyler is turning the page in his notebook, putting pen to that page, and Josh says, "Why don't you talk?"

Tyler says, "Never really had a reason to," and glides his pen over the paper.

Josh blinks. "What?"

Tyler scoots closer to Josh and angles the notebook toward him. _are you interested in me?_ it says, and then, after a scribble, _romantically and sexually_

Tyler did say he was more confident. Josh guesses if the demon were to leave any residue, it would be acceptable for it to be that.

"Yes," Josh says.

"Wait," Josh says, "tell me about yourself. I feel like I need to know about _you_ and not what I got from…"

Tyler's nod is stern, understanding. Josh's eyes are on Tyler's notebook, ready to read along with whatever Tyler's planning to write, and yet, Tyler doesn't pick up his pen. He's holding up his hand, touching a fingertip as if he's going to be counting everything about himself off his fingers, which is _fucking adorable_. So, that must mean Tyler is going to talk. Is Tyler going to talk?

Tyler talks.

"I was homeschooled from a very young age, in a devout Christian home. I was incredibly sheltered. I went to high school with other kids, and I was immediately drawn to the party life. These kids went to my church, but they told me it was okay to be rebellious and still believe in God because, in order to believe in God, you just have to believe in Him. You don't need to go to church, and you don't need to really pray. You need to feel Him and believe in Him. I drank, and I smoked. I smoked a lot." Tyler laughs, and Josh shudders from how beautiful it sounds. "I still smoke a lot, honestly. It used to be more pot than cigarettes, but cigarettes are up there now.

"After high school, I went to college, and I did everything my parents warned me not to do. I didn't have sex. I wasn't… I was shy. But I still drank, and I still smoked, and I still hung around the wrong crowd. Well, I thought they were pretty cool. They took me out of my comfort zone. I stole shit. I stayed out late. I failed exams and cheated on my homework, and I propositioned one of my professors, and she threatened to take me to the dean. I dropped out. I told my parents I would try again when the next semester came around, but I did it all over again.

"I met Jenna in college. She didn't care I didn't talk that much. She kissed me, and I felt warm, but… when compared to all the boys in my classes and on my dorm floor, I felt warmer when I looked at them. I was an idiot and caught someone heading back to his room after his shower. He had on a towel, and he was still wet, and I pushed myself on my tiptoes and kissed him, and… he kissed me back, and it was great, but someone else walked out of the bathroom and saw us, and he told Jenna, and Jenna… She wasn't upset. She told me she always got this vibe from me that I wasn't totally straight because she isn't straight. We had such an awkward conversation. It filled up so many pages of my notebook at the time, asking me if I knew before I liked guys, or if my parents knew, and I cried, and she told me it was okay.

"The truth is I'm pretty sure my parents wouldn't care if I liked guys because, like, I like girls, too, and they'll probably pray that I end up with a girl than someone of my gender, so…" Tyler shakes his head. "But I came home for break, and I left my phone on the kitchen table while I went to help Dad clean out the garage, and my mom read through my texts, and… shit, they were explicit. She was so confused. She's, like, 'Did you break up with Jenna?' and 'Tyler, why does this guy have a leaf emoji after his name?'" Tyler rolls his eyes. "And no matter what I did, it pissed her off. 'Would you just fucking talk?' she yelled at me, over and over. So, I screamed. I screamed really loud, and my sister thought something bad happened; she had out her phone with her thumb hovering above the call button. She already had 911 dialed. 'What's going on?' She just kept looking between my mom and me. I was crying. Mom was, like, 'Excuse me? What did you say?' You know, because that's exactly what you say to your kid who fucking…" Tyler shoves his palms to his face, taking in shaky breaths. His shoulders tremble. Josh touches one, fingers curling to hold.

"I talked before, don't get me wrong. It's just… My parents told me if I didn't have anything interesting to say, then I shouldn't say anything at all. I was young, had such bad anxiety. That takes a toll on a kid, yeah? So, I just… didn't talk. I thought everything that left my mouth was stupid. I still think that from time to time. With you? Never. You stare at me, and I… feel warm. It's so damn cliché for the mute person to start talking once they meet _the one_. I always hated that, but… clichés can't all be bad, not if they happen in a good way." Tyler is smiling. It's faint, his gaze far off, like he's deep in thought. "I feel safe with you, even back here, in your car. I remember crawling through the window, a hole in my chest, my mouth wet, losing consciousness. I was myself there, I think. I wasn't looking down. I was there." Tyler's still looking off, but this time, his gaze is accompanied with tears. They don't shed. They're glass. "I held my heart, and I'm so glad you didn't touch it. I was disgusting. I was… covered in blood and piss, and I shit myself, and I remember touching someone's heart. I remember holding it in my hands, watching it beat. It wasn't a heart, but it looked like one.

"I was at a bar. After I screamed at my mom, I ran out of the house. I got on a bus and let it drive me wherever it went. I must have ridden all night. It was early morning when I got off and tried to get into a bar. They were closed, though, about to close, whatever. This guy pulled me over, and he said he could get me a drink." Tyler laughs again. It's broken. "Semen. Yeah. I drank his piss, too. Lovely. And then, he stared at me with those eyes of his and wanted to know if I could do him a favor. I nodded, and he dug inside his chest, told me to take his heart or else he'd die. I took it, and he dropped to the ground. His eyes never left me. I won't forget them. They were the color of burnt wood.

"The guy got up. He felt like he knew me, but couldn't place where. We parted ways. He didn't comment on the thing in my hands because it disappeared as soon as he hit the ground. I crashed on someone's couch that first day, and then I woke up, and… I remember fucking them. I wasn't there for that. I remember floating, watching. I had sex with so many people. It was never awkward. It was… Shit, it was hot. I found Jenna later on. She was worried sick. 'Your parents told me you ran away! Where were you? You could have come to me.' I told her, 'Sorry.' That was my first word to her: 'Sorry'. I kissed her, and we fucked, and I got her pregnant, and I don't remember much after that. I was in and out. Never really got a sense of what I was doing until I was in that motel and saw you walking down the hall. Yeah, I knew Jenna had a boy, but she wouldn't let me see him, which is fucking understandable. I was a monster. So, anyway, I met you. I met you, Josh, and… here we are." Tyler covers his mouth now with his hands, eyes wide in almost disbelief. "What else do you want to know about me?"

Josh can't stop looking at Tyler. "Do you know how many kids you have, Tyler?"

Tyler is quiet.

"You slept with both of my sisters, and—"

"Oh, _God_."

"They were stillborn."

Tyler closes his eyes.

"But there might be more. You know that, right?"

Eyes still shut, Tyler nods. Then, quietly, "Maybe they all died when… _it_ left my body."

"Maybe."

Tyler slowly drags his hands down his face. Josh can see the pinks of his tear ducts. "The thing… It told me you thought you were corrupt, that you believed too much."

"Yeah." Tyler moves his notebook to the side in order to pull his legs into the seat with him. He hugs his knees. "Gotta love that Christian upbringing."

Josh turns, propping his arm on the top of the seats. He says, "Tyler, how do I believe that an incubus took you when I don't believe in God?"

"I don't know." Tyler presses his cheek to his knees. "I guess you have to trust me."

Mark texts Josh. Tyler reads along with Josh and immediately closes his eyes. "I'm sorry. I've kept you for far too long."

"No, it's fine." Josh puts his phone in his pocket. "I get off at nine. Could we continue this chat? Or is that too late?"

Tyler shakes his head.

"I'll write down my address for you. Or text it to you. Whichever."

"Actually," Tyler says, "I was gonna walk around for a bit. Is it okay if I meet you here then?"

"Of course."

Before parting, Tyler holds the bullet around Josh's neck and squeezes until his knuckles fade to white.

*

He's on the hood of Josh's car at nine o'clock. Smoke from a cigarette leaving his lips, his hands trembling as they hold the nearly vanished stick, ashes cover his thighs and stretched-out legs with feet almost hanging over the edge. His shoelaces are untied.

"Hey," Josh says, and Tyler gives a sheepish wave. The notebook is cast off to the side. Josh grabs it first, opened to a blank page. It's almost full. "Doing okay?"

Tyler nods.

Josh unlocks his car. "Did you want to go back to my place?"

Tyler sucks on the cigarette.

"We could just sit in my car? I'll turn on the heat." Josh can see the bumps along Tyler's arms.

Tyler smiles.

They settle in the backseat again, but this time, Tyler's notebook is thrown into the front, and Tyler is touching Josh's face, both hands, warm hands, gentle hands, and Tyler is kissing Josh's mouth, warm lips, gentle lips. Josh holds Tyler's waist, his arms, his shoulders, and kisses him back. "Wait," Josh says, Tyler frowning. "I didn't even turn on the heat."

Tyler sits back, and Josh leans forward to shove the keys into the ignition. He twists knobs, falls into the seat once more. Tyler kisses him again, a palm to Josh's neck, and Josh kisses Tyler, a palm to Tyler's hip. Bare skin, shirt riding up, Tyler's warm, so warm; Josh can't get enough of it. He lets Tyler crawl into his lap, sitting on his knees and opening his mouth. Saliva and soft soughs, Josh gets chills.

"Can I check something?" he asks. "It's not, like… I'm not trying to speed things up. I just… _need to know_ …"

Tyler nods as if he understands. Arms dropping to his sides, Tyler lowers his head and watches Josh pop the button off his jeans, slide down the zipper, and slip his hand inside. Josh doesn't go straight for skin-to-skin contact because just like he said, he doesn't want this to go fast. He wants to take this slow. He needs to take this slow.

So, Josh cups Tyler through his boxers. He isn't hard, but he's big—and _warm_. Josh closes his eyes. "Tyler," he whispers, and begins to laugh at the possibility of Tyler, actual Tyler, the vessel, not Not-Tyler, _Tyler_ , being non-sexual. What if, after all this time, Tyler had a low sex drive? What if Tyler was asexual and despised sex? What if the incubus took hold of Tyler to give him the confidence to shed his clothing and share a bed with another person? Josh doesn't know why he finds this humorous, but he does. He laughs, and Tyler cracks a smile. In Josh's palm, Tyler's dick twitches. On Josh's lap, Tyler takes Josh's arm and pulls it out the front to move it to the back, and Josh obeys, running his hand down Tyler's boxers, cupping his ass with a palm. Okay, okay, Tyler's definitely sexual, to some degree. He's kissing Josh's neck, teeth skimming along skin.

"You want me," Josh says, and Tyler hums in agreement.

"Slow," Tyler whispers, and Josh is the one to hum in agreement.

"I'll drive you home." Josh removes his hand and does back up Tyler's jeans. Tyler's frowning again. Josh says, "You still live with your parents, right? You don't… You can crash at my place. We can… I can sleep on the couch, and you can take the bed. I don't care."

Tyler kisses Josh's cheek. "No."

Josh returns the kiss. "Okay."

*

A different setting, a different time and plane of existence, Tyler somehow molds into place once they get to Josh's apartment. He's dropping his notebook onto the coffee table and rubbing his arms, the temperature outside getting chiller the closer to autumn. It had been pleasant today, the sun hot, and now Tyler looks as if he's regretting wearing a cut-off shirt, the arm holes so large it shows off his ribs.

Josh gives Tyler a hoodie. It's a little worn, and the string looped around the hood is missing. But it's baggy, and the moment Tyler's head pops out, Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles, too. If Tyler had hair, more specifically the hair Not-Tyler had, it would be stuck up oddly—and adorably.

"Come to bed with me," Josh whispers, grinning all the while, and Tyler looks positively mischievous.

As soon as Tyler lies down, his eyes shut, lips part, and Josh believes Tyler would have fallen straight to sleep if Josh hadn't given his cheek a kiss. Tyler stirred then, and his face pinched rather playfully. "Hey," Josh says. Tyler wraps his arm around Josh's shoulders and pulls him over and down, matching their lips together. It's not at all like their other kisses, not like the kisses they partook in before were actually true; no, Josh was with a demon. Now, though, Josh is with Tyler, a human, _Tyler_ , and he's all about that.

Tyler's kisses turn as slow as molasses. Soon, they're just a set of lips in union, breathing through noses and keeping eyes closed. Josh thinks it's endearing, and it only grows when Josh pulls away and sees the string of drool connecting them and Tyler's half-lidded eyes and goofy smile with crooked teeth. "Sorry," Tyler mouths, the way his lips moving hinting that he would pronounce the _rr_ s like _ww_ s.

Josh shakes his head. He runs the pad of his thumb along Tyler's eyebrow. "Get some sleep. That's why you're here." Josh drops his gaze to Tyler's nose, his mouth, chin. "We're taking this slow."

They settle down for bed. Josh makes sure to plug in a timer for the TV before he curls in close to Tyler. Three blankets cover them, a comfortable weight. So comfortable Josh thinks it's just the blankets on him when he wakes to a pressure on his chest, but it's Tyler. Tyler is stretched over Josh's torso, horizontal to Josh's, and the bed's, verticality. Like Tyler crawled and plopped down in place, Josh wonders what brought Tyler to this—so, Josh asks. Tyler is up, rubbing his cheek along the sheets to scratch an itch. TV still on, Tyler watches blankly, not really focused. There's a shift in the room. Tyler knows Josh is awake.

"I remember watching you stand from the bed and walk around, pacing the room, and I remember taking you back to bed, but you kept getting up."

"Did I say anything?"

"Nothing coherent. I think it had to do with your parents, with money, with having nowhere to go." Tyler raises his head, turning his body to face Josh, still horizontal. "I had a nightmare that you left me." Tyler doesn't go into detail, but Josh knows what he means.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Tyler holds up his hand, pinky out. Josh wraps his pinky around it.

"I wasn't sleeping well. I was stressed. But like I said, I'm not going anywhere." Josh smiles. "Hey, Tyler, you know you're great, right?"

Tyler looks away, pink in the face, and rubs his palm over his scalp. He scoots, dropping onto his stomach, next to Josh. The hoodie's hem is riding up Tyler's back. Josh fixes it, his palm sliding along the curve of Tyler's ass.

"You're great," Tyler says. He stares at Josh. "I'm glad you gave me a second chance."

"Never really gave you a chance to begin with," Josh points out, turning onto his side. The TV turns off. "That wasn't you."

"Some parts were." Tyler lowers his head and picks at his cuticles. "I don't like my hair pulled—that hard, and I definitely don't hump pillows."

Josh grins. He pulls the blankets around them.

"But… most… That wasn't me, Josh." Tyler closes his eyes. Josh closes his eyes. "I'm… How do I—Josh, I prefer to…" Tyler can't finish. Josh hugs and draws Tyler to his chest.

"Don't tell me. Let me figure it out. You're my new boyfriend, and every day with you is an adventure."

Tyler wipes at his eyes.

They sleep.

*

This relationship is new. It's… tender, if anything. Josh had never been one to dote over a significant other, but with Tyler, it's easy to do it. Tyler is, in layman's terms, soft.

Tyler likes to cook, and he sings while doing so. Josh can't be in the same room as he does this, though, or else Tyler grows red and hides all indication that he's ever uttered a word. But Josh has perfected the skill of eavesdropping, and he's taken to lingering around corners and letting Tyler finish a verse or the chorus before he enters the room to get a drink of water or hug Tyler from behind.

Over the next few weeks, Tyler does a lot of cooking. "You know, we can order pizza sometime, right?" Josh tries to tell him, but Tyler likes to be in the kitchen. His idea of "something easy" is a couple of grilled cheeses with canned soup. They always sit on the couch while they eat, almost always on the same cushion. Josh doesn't mind this; he rather likes having Tyler sit on his lap. It reminds him of holding this very same body close to his chest, a cold and big cock sliding over his pajama bottoms, shuddering and screeching and not even a small slide of sweat.

At first, Tyler was shy. He came over to Josh's one night and held up his notebook with shaking hands.

_please fuck me_

So, that's what Josh did. He remembers the insides of Tyler's thighs pressing against his hips as Tyler rocked back and forth on his dick. Tyler's own cock hung heavy between his legs, too large to curve against his stomach. It stuck straight out, tempting Josh to touch and stroke at every bounce Tyler gave. Despite his selective muteness and bashfulness when it came to his song, Tyler bellowed and performed magnificently. Josh sat with the help of the headboard and held Tyler throughout his symphony, his body quaking as violently as if the demon still clung to his being.

It was good.

Josh begins to entertain the thought of Tyler taking control later. Tyler says, "You don't have to if it's too… uncomfortable. I know this must still be unpleasant for you."

"It's fine," Josh replies. "In time, I think."

Along with this talk of switching, Tyler wants to visit Josh's family for Thanksgiving.

"Oh, you don't want to cook?" Josh raises his eyebrows, and Tyler rolls his eyes.

"I don't even know if my parents would want me for Thanksgiving," Josh admits that night, Tyler lying next to him in that large hoodie and his eyes on the TV. Tyler flicks his gaze to Josh, a simple _have you asked?_

Josh shakes his head. "I just know. They didn't bother asking last year."

Tyler frowns, and Josh sighs. "I'll ask."

Josh asks, reluctantly so, and now Josh's family is expecting Tyler for Thanksgiving. Josh never specified who Tyler was exactly, just said his name was Tyler, and Josh had been dating him for a while.

"A while," Tyler quietly says, on his back, wearing that hoodie and watching TV because they're always in bed when they talk like this. "I suppose that's accurate." He tilts his head and curls his toes. "Should I bring a dish?"

"Dessert. Can't get enough of your sweets."

Josh warns them all beforehand Tyler isn't one for talking. He hopes they aren't weird about it.

Nobody recognizes Tyler—except Josh's sisters.

They corner Josh in the kitchen in the shift of dinner to dessert. "He's… Josh, he was the guy—"

"Yeah." Josh gives them a look. "Okay, but that wasn't him. He didn't… He wasn't himself. He doesn't remember anything about that." Then, "Don't mention it to Mom. She almost threw a fit when he wouldn't say 'amen' after the prayer."

It's more relaxed after dinner. They all spread out, some standing around the kitchen as others moved into the living room. Josh and Tyler occupy the couch, Tyler's legs draped over Josh's lap as Josh feeds him a second helping of mashed potatoes. Tyler is pink all over, wearing a green hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans with zero holes. Josh's mom flutters in, as does Jordan, who is spraying whipped cream into his mouth.

"Oh, Tyler," Josh's mom says, taking a seat in the recliner. "Josh never told me what you do for a living."

Tyler's mouth is full. Josh answers for him, "He does freelance work online."

It's an answer she doesn't like. Jordan saves the day. "Dude, that's so cool! You get to pick your hours and everything!" He takes the cushion next to Tyler and offers him the can of whipped cream. Tyler pops open his lips, and Jordan sprays an ample amount inside.

"How did you two meet?" she asks.

"Work," Josh says. "He came in one day with his brother."

"You know, Tyler, you look very familiar."

Tyler only smiles a shit-eating smile and lets Josh continue to feed him. The conversation dies after that. They spend the night in Josh's childhood room, the bed much too small for any of their escapades, yet Tyler persuades Josh with a tilt of his head and a wiggle of his fingers.

They use a lot of lube, and Tyler goes slow. He inches into Josh, and Josh holds his thighs to his chest, and it's accompanied with the creaking of Josh's bed, but it's slow, it's so slow, and Josh comes with a sigh.

Tyler pulls out of Josh, and his semen follows. It drips from Josh's stretched hole and sticks to Josh's thighs. Tyler licks him clean. Josh tells Tyler, "I love you," and Tyler is all wide eyes and curvy lips when he tells Josh, "I love you, too."

The morning after is chaotic. Josh's mom wants to go Black Friday shopping, and she wants everybody else to go, as well. "No exceptions," she says, and points at Josh.

Early and still dark outside, they go to the mall first. Josh and Tyler hit up Starbucks and wander, arms linked and silently giggling at how Josh's limp is not as subtle as once thought.

As soon as Josh enters the toy store, he's pulled back by Tyler. Tyler is frowning and shaking, and he begins to say something, but someone is speaking ahead of him, a cheerful voice, a surprised voice, that says, "Josh? Is that you?"

Jenna walks toward them, doesn't notice Tyler because Tyler is cowering behind Josh. "How've you been? Better?"

"Much better," Josh says.

"Who's your friend?" Jenna asks, because Tyler isn't doing a good job at hiding himself. Her face is open, welcome, and it changes into something disdainful and violent when Tyler peeks from behind Josh's shoulder. " _You_." Her eyes are ice, and they pierce and freeze. "Josh, why are—?"

Everything melts at the tears. Tyler tries to stop them from spilling, but they spill. They spill.

And Jenna understands. "Oh, _Tyler_."

She hugs him, guiding Josh and him from the toy store's entryway. She hugs him, and he hugs her, Josh holding his coffee, eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks and looking as if he never wants to leave this embrace.

Jenna breaks it. She's happy. "It was nice seeing you, Tyler."

Tyler doesn't say anything. He doesn't even smile.

Josh and he continue through the mall. Their arms are linked together again, and Tyler sips at his coffee. He still says nothing. He says nothing for the rest of the day, not until they're in Josh's apartment that night, and only then, Tyler's speech is crying and more crying.

They're supposed to be sleeping. The TV's sleep timer ran out. It's dark, cozy, and Josh is sluggish from having been woken from his slumber. "Hey," he says, and touches Tyler's hand. "What's up?"

"I—don't—think—I'm—built—for—this—world." Separated by sharp intakes of breaths, Tyler's shaking is more like convulsing than the simple and expected trembling from sobs. "I—feel—so—guilty."

"Tyler, that wasn't you. Okay? You're all right. Nobody blames you."

"You do." Tyler rubs his eyes. "You don't believe in God. You must think I'm—I'm—I'm—a—monster."

"Do you want me to suddenly believe in God again, Tyler? Do you honestly think I could drop to my knees and pray, and I'll magically start believing again?" Josh rolls onto his stomach. "Because it doesn't just work like that. It needs to come from inside me, and it _isn't_."

Tyler sniffs, sitting up and avoiding looking at Josh. "I told my mom I was questioning my beliefs, and she said I was… I was _fucking psychotic_. She kicked me out. I've been living with my brother, with Zack." Tyler wipes his eyes. "I don't know how to explain what happened to me, Josh, other than some otherworldly being possessing me. It sounds fucked up, I know, but that's what I believe, and you have to respect that."

"I do. Holy shit, I do respect that." Josh takes Tyler's hand. "Look, Tyler, there's a lot of stuff in this world that doesn't make sense, and it's okay to not understand it. We don't need all the answers." Tyler sniffs, his nose wrinkling. "Tyler, I believe in aliens. Do you know how fucked up _that_ is?"

Tyler considers this. "So, it's, like… an alien abducted me, possessed me."

Josh blinks. "Yeah, I guess. If you want to look at it that way."

"Look at it that way, then." Tyler is calm now, eyes now the normal amount of wet. "Instead of a demon, an incubus, it was an alien."

Josh can do that. He nods.

Tyler lies back down. Josh presses his cheek to Tyler's chest. They fall asleep, Josh dreaming of Tyler's heartbeat.

*

Josh spends Christmas with Tyler, much different from his Christmas-for-one last year. They don't spend money on presents, deciding to spend their time in bed, naked skin and morning breath and gasping and fucking, fucking, fucking.

"In the summer," Josh says, lips skimming along Tyler's marked collarbones, "or when it gets warm, we need to take a road trip."

Tyler smiles. He's tired, scratched.

*

Tyler's sunglasses are pink and in the shape of hearts. He smokes cigarettes and taps his foot to the radio. Small, white hills populate his cheek, the valleys between them as pink as the glasses on his face. He's beautiful.

Josh drives. He's content, wearing a t-shirt that lets the sun warm his arms. Around his neck, the bullet hangs. It's a reminder. It's good to have reminders. It feels right.

Notebook on the dashboard, Tyler finds a pen and scribbles a quick message.

_i think there's a motel up here_

Ice machine down the hall, windows unable to open, and the bed as hard as a rock, Tyler wears a worn-out sweater with nothing else. His dick hangs between his legs, teasing Josh, and Josh learns to not drool.

 _kiss me_ , Tyler writes, and Josh does.

 _go to sleep_ , Tyler writes, and Josh does.


End file.
